


their velocity

by skymetaphors



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cohabitation, Drama & Romance, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skymetaphors/pseuds/skymetaphors
Summary: Circumstances lead to Kagura temporarily moving in with Sougo, thoroughly messing with his life, his routine, and his head. [Modern AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Modern AU, though it's just the setting that really changed. Aliens and Amanto are still a thing. There are minimal alterations to canon, and you'll discover them as you read.

His apartment has street-level windows. His couch faces them instead of the television, which he only turns on for background noise.

There are entire days Sougo spends sitting on that couch to watch people's shoes pushing against the pavement then falling back down. Or trash and leaves chasing each other across the sidewalk. Sometimes needles of rain falling and forming puddles, then small boots stomping, muddy water splashing on the windows.

Everything outside is tinted with the light orange of approaching dusk when he sees black boots accompanied by a distinctly pale pair of ankles peeking from under the red hem of a cheongsam. They stop. One pale leg kicks the owner of the black boots in the knee, then a brief scuffle ensues. They eventually stop, face each other briefly, then walk away.

One moment passes after another. He has a feeling that any moment now, something that will make his shitty day even shittier will arrive.

Someone knocks on the door. Then an irritatingly familiar voice: "Sadiiiist!"

And  _there_ it is.

He drags himself up and turns the television off. He skirts the wide table laden with junk food, takeout and soda cans, and steps over a shattered bottle of wine he has completely forgotten all about until he sees the glass shards on the floor.

He  _can_ clean it up. But then again one of his guests can also step on the glass, tear their foot open, and bleed to death. Or just get really injured and get sent to the hospital so he can be left alone. That's okay, too. He isn't really picky.

More knocks. "Souichiro-kun!"

"It's Sougo," he mutters, shuffling towards the door.

"Gin-chan, he could be dead, yes?!"

"Oi, don't say that with such a happy voice! He can haunt us, you know! He can peep on you when you're in the shower, and Gin-san won't be there to protect your virtue!"

Sougo yanks the door open. "What virtue? It's just a gorilla, isn't it?"

She whips her umbrella at his face, but the boss grabs it, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her away.

She gnaws on his arm like the brat that she is. "Forget it, Gin-chan! Let's leave! He is fine, yes? I told you we should not have worried!"

"You were the one who wanted to drop by, you damn brat!"

"I was not worried, yes?! I just wanted to finish him off, that's all!"

Suddenly exhausted, Sougo sags against the doorframe. "Boss, it's like what China said. I'm fine. Bye."

He begins to close the door, but China chooses that moment to break free, and she launches herself at him with all the combined force of a dozen horses' kicks.

He slams against the floor. The world wobbles in place and he swears, blinking, sitting up. He finds himself face to face with an ape.

"What the fuck are you doing, China?"

Over her shoulder, he sees the boss walk in, his pinky in his nose. His dead eyes don't change at all as he takes in the state of his apartment.

China girl puts her hand over Sougo's mouth and looks around, and he watches her haughty expression slowly fall off her face. His stomach sinks when he realizes that the two idiots are legitimately worried about him, which makes him wonder just how pathetic he must seem.

"I was wondering why that mayo addict was so fussy about you not coming to work and not trying to assassinate him, but I guess sometimes he has a point, eh, Sofa-kun?"

He wrenches her hand off him. "It's Sougo."

China looks back at him, her eyes shining with a conviction that only mildly terrifies him because it means she has made an idiotic decision of the highest order and no force in the universe will be able to change her mind.

"Gin-chan, you can leave me here."

Now what the fuck does that mean?

"Huh? Leave our Kagura-chan in this pig sty? In the company of someone as twisted as Souichiro-kun? Do you know what your baldy of a father will do to Gin-san? Huh? Do you?"

His gaze flickers between them. It's fucking Sougo, goddammit, and what the hell are they talking about?

"You were looking for someone to look after me while you are gone, yes?" She pats his head. "Well, here he is."

Wait, wait, wait. "Who the fuck is going to look after what?"

They both ignore him. "Haa? Wasn't I going to drop you off at Otae and Shinpachi's place? Or was that just my imagination? Did I imagine that entire conversation, Kagura-chan? Am I that old? Am I going bald?"

"It is settled, yes? You can bring my things now, Gin-chan."

"China, what the hell—"

Her palm smacks over his mouth again. "Silence. You have not tried to kill or arrest me, yes? It is not like you at all." She turns to the boss. "Do not worry, Gin-chan. I will not let him do lecherous things to me, yes?"

As if he wants to. Sure, most people who lack common sense and good taste think she's pretty, but he doesn't. At all.

The boss sighs. "Now, look here, Kagura. I cannot leave a 16-year-old girl with a grown-ass man—"

"Gin-chan." China jumps to her feet and approaches the boss, then whispers something in his ear. The boss narrows his eyes at her, then mutters something back.

Sougo stands. He doesn't want her anywhere near him. He doesn't want  _anyone_ near him. All this bickering is draining him and he wants to go back to his couch and watch a thin sliver of the world move without him.

Hijikata-san has told him repeatedly that it's 'unhealthy', that he needs 'more effective coping mechanisms'. What, like not sleeping, not eating, working himself to the bone, and chain-smoking 24/7 (not an exaggeration this time)?

 _Kondo-san is worried about you, idiot,_ Hijibaka said.  _Go see a fucking shrink._

You  _go see a fucking shrink._

 _I_ am  _seeing a fucking shrink._

Sougo did not know what to say to that.

Now he shambles back to his couch, ignoring the two, and nearly steps on the shattered bottle he has completely forgotten about. At this rate,  _he'll_ tear his own foot open. Maybe he should clean it up. He stares down at it, trying to decide.

A white head slides into his line of sight and begins picking up the glass shards. A red head joins it, muttering about how stupid chihuahuas shouldn't live alone.

"What are you doing?" Sougo asks no one in particular.

"Gin-san will allow this," says the boss as if he hasn't spoken. He stands up and looks around for the trash can, which is basically the entire apartment. Sougo stares at him helpfully. "But there are rules, alright?"

"Alright, Gin-chan!" China straightens, too, and joins her kinda-father in his quest to seek the trash can.

"I'm not talking to you! I'm talking to Souko-kun."

"That was close, boss. It's Sougo."

"First! No perverted thoughts, words, acts, objects, and/or events shall take place within fifty feet of our Kagura-chan."

China gives up quickly. She walks into the kitchen and you hear her toss the glass shards into the sink. She comes back, looking pleased with herself. "Gin-chan, what if I want to read porn?"

"DON'T SAY THAT WORD!" The boss follows her example and tosses the debris into the sink, too.

"I'm a developing young woman, yes? I need to know such things!"

Sougo rubs his face. He wants to lie down. "Boss, I haven't even agreed to this."

"Of course you agree to this, sadist! You like me, yes?"

"Fuck no, I don't. I daydream about chopping you into pieces and cooking you into stew, China girl."

"SECOND!" The boss walks back into the living room. "No flirting, especially in front of Gin-san!"

"I bet I am a delicious stew!"

"You're fucking poisonous, China."

"I am a delicious poison!"

"You make people shit from their mouths and throw up from their assholes."

"You only say that because you haven't tasted me yet!"

"Oh? Do you want me to, China?"

"I SAID NO FLIRTING!"

China raises her middle finger at Sougo and he returns the gesture.

The boss takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, and folds his arms. "Lastly, Sophia-kun." His eyes are flat and empty of emotion. "Do go out sometimes, would you?"

He  _does_ go out sometimes. Every few days or so. To sit on the steps in front of the building and watch everything passing in front of him.

"Boss, I don't know where you get these names from, but it's Sougo and where the hell is she even staying? There isn't a spare r—"

He stops because there actually  _is_ and he keeps forgetting (denying) it. The boss and China girl are both looking at him, and there is no trace of pity in their gazes. They simply wait.

He drags his palm across his face. He is so  _tired_ and he has just run out of fucks to give. He throws himself onto the couch, closing his eyes. Whatever the hell it is he needs to do to prove to them he's fine and he can be left alone, he's all for it. He'll deal with the consequences later.

"I'm not fucking cleaning anything for you, China."

He is answered with dead silence. Then footsteps. The stench of sukonbu and her fragrance. The rustle of clothing with each small movement. It is not a sound people usually pay attention to, but it engraves the image of red fabric sliding across pale skin into his mind. After weeks of grays and black-and-whites, it is the first visual in his head that has this much color.

When he opens his eyes, he sees her crouching in front of him, her small face all scrunched up with obvious concern that she has so valiantly attempted to repress.

"What the fuck, sadist?" she asks, her voice impossibly quiet, then she sits down on the floor and demands that the boss bring her stuff to her new temporary home right  _now._

"Fuck you and fuck off, China," he mumbles, but she just turns her back on him, leans against the couch (so he can touch her if he just moves his arm a little closer), and asks him where he hides his porn.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Long stories are not my strength because I'm bad at pacing. Practice is the only way to get better, so here we are. Alsoo. Each chapter will take me around a week to write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm very early. *proud* But this isn't going to last, guys. Exams are coming up and I have to study so I'll be much slower next time. Have fun.

It's like waking up with the kind of hangover that makes people promise they will never  _ever_ drink again. Sougo's insides flood with instant dread and regret as he hears the unmistakable sound of a vacuum cleaner running.

He rolls off his bed and onto the floor with a thud. He lies there on his front, staring at the patterns of the carpet, contemplating his life, and sneezes. He is sure he fell asleep on the couch, so either he has spontaneously developed teleportation powers or China dumped him in his bedroom. He knows which one he prefers.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position and pats the top of the nightstand. He finds his phone and glances at the time, then frowns as he realizes that he has slept for almost twelve hours. He slides back down and closes his eyes, letting yesterday's events sink in.

China. Fucking  _China_ has invaded his home and is ransacking (cleaning?) his apartment. He wants to go out there and shield his worldly possessions from her grubby little paws, but the sound of the vacuum actually sounds kind of nice, even comforting, and he lets himself listen to it for a while.

Then he remembers that it's  _fucking China girl_ responsible for that sound and he jerks upright. Nothing about her is nice or comforting. She's loud and dumb and rude and ugly and is surely making a mess of  _everything_ and if he kills her it might cheer him up.

This thought only fuels him long enough to stand, but as soon as he is on his feet, his motivation goes down the drain. If he kills her, there would be no China girl left to hate.

Sougo looks around. So far, his bedroom remains untouched (he kind of expected her to turn everything inside-out looking for his porn). Particularly his bookshelf, shoved against the wall and packed with manga, gun manuals, tiny models of old cannons, remnants of what was once a glorious train set, and other knick-knacks whose places he knows by heart.

He checks the closet and finds the interior the same way he left it. Uniforms and casual clothes are where they are supposed to be, his collection of non-standard issue guns still behind the back panel. Most important of all, bottom drawer is still locked.

His door flies open. "Sadist!"

Sougo looks to his right and sees China, who is armed with the now silent vacuum cleaner. She's sweating buckets.

He wrinkles his nose. "You smell, China. Get out."

She doesn't move. "Your stink is worse, yes? I will throw you into the shower right now!"

Sougo walks toward her and kicks the door closed.

She opens it again, scowling. "It is necessary to have some sensitivity when living with a blooming young lady, yes?"

"The only thing blooming from you is body odor," he says, then kicks the door again.

She shoves it open and steps forward. "Says the stink-face who smells like a rotting corpse! Take a stupid shower, stupid!"

Sougo grabs the door by the edge and slams it directly into her face. He pulls it back open to smirk at her.

She staggers back, clutching her bleeding nose, and glares at him. Her eyes scream murder.

"You—you—piece—of—SHIIIIT!"

She swings the vacuum cleaner at him with all of her gorilla strength.

Sougo closes the door.

The vacuum cleaner smashes into it. Chips and splinters explode from the ragged hole, sprinkling his bedroom floor with dust and wooden debris.

The vacuum cleaner falls away from the hole, revealing a blank-faced China girl.

Sougo stares at her.

She stares back at him.

Then she starts yelling. "It is ruined, sadist!"

"No shit, dumbass!"

"It is all your fault, yes?!"

"Who was the fuckwit who smashed the fucking vacuum cleaner into the door?"

"I would not have smashed it if you had not hit me, yes?!"

"Only because you were being a pain in the ass!"

"Your face is a pain in the ass!"

"You—" Sougo stops himself before they end up having another argument that will result into broken furniture. He closes his eyes and sighs, unable to decide which is more tempting: to break China girl's head open or to crawl into a hole and die.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, she actually managed to clean the place up a bit before she destroyed the vacuum cleaner. The table is cleared and there aren't random wrappers and boxes scattered on the floor. He peeked at the room she has claimed for herself and discovered that she hasn't messed around with it too much. Her personal belongings are stashed where they should be.

Sougo feels oddly refreshed from the shower he had to take because  _somebody_ smashed his door and he had to look sane and presentable when the carpenter arrived. He now sits in his usual spot and focuses on the windows (it is bright outside and there are lots of shoes passing by; it must be a nice day). China sits on the floor, leaning against the back of the couch, and watches the carpenter work on the door.

"Sadist, I am hungry," she whines.

"Good. How long does it take for Yato to starve to death?"

He hears her stand, then she drapes herself over the backrest and punches his thigh. He dodges at the last minute and she tries to bite his shoulder. He grabs her head, his longer arms keeping her at bay. She growls and claws at him like a tiny tiger, her face twisted into a half-snarl, half-pout. It's almost endearing, but this is  _China._ Fucking China.

"Get your own damn food, China girl."

She changes her strategy and tumbles fully onto the couch, then she starts kicking him. "You have not eaten, either, yes? You must also be hungry! If you are going to eat, you have to feed me, too!"

He turns and blocks what he can with his legs, then kicks her back. Soon they are playing a more violent version of footsie—minus the flirting—he  _thinks_ —with her aiming for his crotch and him protecting his jewels. She's fucking strong, and his neglect of his regular training and exercise is not helping. He's not sure how things turned out this way; he is Tokushu Butai [1], dammit, a trained officer specializing in fucking assault, and here he is playing  _goddamn footsie_ with some illegal immigrant he should have had deported years ago.

Frustrated, he yells at her: "I don't feel like eating, you stupid brat!"

That makes her stop, so he does, too.

The rhythmic grinding of the saw against wood measures the quiet that follows.

She is staring at him in a strange way.  _Fuck._ He has forgotten whom he's dealing with. To most people, occasional loss of appetite happens to everyone. But to a pig like her, the mere mention of it is probably tantamount to a debilitating disease.

She lowers her legs (they are smooth and lithe and unlike most things they go on forever) and watches him. He is slightly unnerved by how silent she has become. The idea of China girl  _maturing_ alarms him for reasons he does not understand.

"Then what do tax robbers usually do when they are not working?" she asks in a small voice.

He meets her gaze. Sags against the armrest and looks up at the ceiling.  _So tired_. "I'm only buying you three bowls of katsudon. You hear me?  _Three._  That's it."

The clank of wood against the floor. The clinking of the carpenter's tools.

And not a single hint of excitement from China girl at the prospect of food.

"Sadist."

"What the fuck do you want now?"

"What do you usually do when you are slacking off?"

"Kill nosy brats for invading a respectable officer's privacy and for not minding their own business."

She kicks him again, but there is no real force behind it. "I want to know, yes?"

"I don't care what you want, China."

"I will pay you with my body, yes?"

Something clatters against the floor. The carpenter clears his throat and resumes working.

This time, Sougo kicks her. "Stop saying gross shit like that, you fuckhead! What if some asshole who isn't as pure-hearted as I am actually takes you up on that?"

"I do not say that to just  _anyone_ , chihuahua!" She sits up. "And the only pure thing about you is your pure black heart, yes?" She tugs on his leg, almost tentative, and even if he isn't looking directly at her, he can sense that she's wearing some stupidly adorable expression that he refuses to see. "I just want to know how useless sadists spend their day, yes?"

Sougo flexes his fingers. He can feel their tremors, their own little earthquakes.

He's fine.

He's fine.

_He's fine._

If he manages to convince her he is fine, maybe she'll tell the boss and Hijikata-san and Kondo-san and they will all leave him alone.

"Fuck," he says out loud, then glances at her, then he quickly glances away because she's just  _so_ unbearably ugly and stupid-looking and not pretty at all and why the hell is she looking at him like that?

The whirr of the drill. The clatter of wood. Her absolute stillness, her soundlessness.

"As long as you keep your mouth shut, China girl," he says, resigned, and this is what finally elicits excitement from her.

"But you will buy me four bowls of katsudon first, yes?"

"Three, China. I said  _three._ "

"I heard you say five, sadist! Do not lie to me! Over the course of history, women have developed the ability to detect men's lies!"

"Do you want me to tear your ears off? I fucking said  _three!_ "

* * *

He ends up buying her seven.

And as he gives his wallet a forlorn look, he actually thinks he  _might_ have to go back to work now.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [1] means Special Unit. It's a branch of law enforcement in Japan which focuses on counter-terrorism and highly lethal suspects and other stuff outside of the province of the normal police, which I thought was kinda appropriate as the modern counterpart of the Shinsengumi


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this faster than I thought I'd be able to. Probably because I have more fun doing this than fuckin studying. Ah well. Enjoy.

The city of Sapporo has a wideness to it that sometimes overwhelms him. When he looks up, he sees outlines of mountains hulking beyond towering structures and skyscrapers. The way the sky wraps around all of it. When he looks ahead, buildings, trees and rivers of people sprawl along streets full of lights. Voices, footsteps, rustling leaves and car horns and everywhere, movement. The furious heartbeat of a city full of the restless.

Their destination isn't far from where they ate, but they take a taxi anyway. Sougo doesn't want to be made even smaller by his own head by walking. He has to be in his best condition. He has to look fine, no matter what, and to be able to do that, he has to  _be_ as fine as he is capable of. Besides, it's sunny outside. Pleasantly warm for humans who want to walk, but torture for the Yato.

China girl is unamused when they stop at an old, shady-looking hotel. The entire time he leads her inside and to the top floor, she demands over and over what they are doing there. Once inside the appropriate room, he locks the door behind them.

"I knew you were planning to do lecherous things to me, sadist!"

He approaches the bed and crouches next to it.

She follows him. "Is this what you do all the time? You bring innocent maidens like myself to this room and tie them up and do perverted things to them?"

Sougo pushes the bed aside. "I go to S&M clubs for that, China girl." Which is where he met the owner of the hotel and acquired enough blackmail material to ruin the man's family. Hence his free access to all windowed rooms at the top floor, as long as they are unoccupied.

"Huh." She peers down at him. "So you  _do_ do those twisted things I saw in your porn, yes?"

He supposes that living with the boss has given her a keen sense of where to look for those things. He turns to her, eyebrows raised. Her back is turned on the windows, the light, and he can't see her expression properly. Today she has chosen to wear her hair in one long braid and it suits her and it pisses him off. "Jealous, China girl?"

She smacks him on the head with her umbrella. "I do not care where you stick that dirty piece of wood into, chihuahua."

Sougo rubs his head and turns his attention back to the floor. The wooden planks are delicate and have to be removed in a certain order. He starts, and China shuffles closer to him.

She remains quiet the entire time, her curiosity clearly trumping her need to be annoying. When he is done, a white canvas greets them.

"Is that a dead body?" China asks.

"It would have smelled like you if it were, stupid."

She ignores this. "What do you even do with it? Oi, sadist, could it be y-you—?"

"What the hell do you think I am? You're the fucked up one here, aren't you?" Sougo shakes his head and removes the canvas, revealing a sniper rifle along with arrays of cartridges, a caliber conversion kit, and a tripod.

She nearly moans in delight and he clenches his jaw, trying to forget the sound as soon as possible.

"Sadist, I want to shoot with it!"

He can hear his own heavy breathing. "This isn't like your lame-ass umbrella, China girl." He stares down at it, then at his hands. Then back at it. "This one is  _special."_

She grabs his shoulder. "Teach me! I want to shoot with it, yes?"

Sougo exhales loudly. "I'm not sure I can. This one requires precision and discipline, and you are about as precise and disciplined as a baby orangutan."

She crouches beside him and shakes him, nearly knocking him over. "I have always wanted to shoot one, yes? Gin-chan and Shinpachi and I are always getting shot at by those things!"

That...was probably him. They were fun targets; their kind do not die easily. Besides, he always made sure to miss by just the slimmest inch. They made the funniest expressions. But it was all just for practice. Yes. Practice. "Because you freelancers threaten the safety of everyone who isn't a gorilla like you." He takes the tripod, several cartridges, and the rifle and walks to the window, where he begins to set up.

She trots after him (or probably the gun) like a puppy. "But that does not look like the ones the tax robbers I beat u—I mean I  _met—_ had, yes?"

Mostly because the model is for military use, not law enforcement, and has a longer range. And is also something Sougo should not have, but he has his connections (slaves). "Stop asking stupid questions. Do you want to learn or not?"

She hops a little. "I do, I do!"

He should probably rethink teaching a 16-year-old how to snipe, but then again, China girl does a lot of shit girls her age should not be doing (and maybe he loves it, just a little).

He rubs his face with his hands and looks around. He spots the chair he usually uses and brings it near the window behind the rifle. "Get your ass in here."

He spends the next half-hour adjusting the tripod, scope, cheek piece and sling to her comfort, then teaching her how to position herself, turn the safety off, and load the rifle, all of which would have only taken a few minutes if she would keep quiet and listen and just—fucking—stay—still. Strangely enough, the familiarity of the routine—despite him not having done it in a while—actually calms him. It's only China girl who is ruining this for him.

"Look out the scope and see if you can spot my dummies." After all, he can't just use the freelancers all the time for target practice.

She swings the rifle wildly and ruins everything he has just prepared. "Where? Where? I cannot see, stupid sadist!"

"The scope's too close to your ugly face, dumbass, which it wouldn't have been if you had maintained your position!"

"How can I aim if I do not move, you punk?!"

"Move carefully, you shit-brain!"

It takes them another half-hour before she is back in the right position, and several more minutes before she finds the target dummies. The way she giggles when she finally shoots is worth everything.

"Now, you move the bolt for the next cartridge."

"What's a bolt, sadist? And why do I have to move it to shoot again?"

He fights the urge to kick her, but only because he would have to fix everything again. "Drill a hole into your ears and tear them wide open, China. Listen to me this time."

To her credit, she restrains herself and only glares at him, then listens. Once she has understood how the gun works, she attempts to hit more of the dummies, confident that it will be easy because of the scope.

It's good that he had them set up in deserted parts of the city, because otherwise he is sure she would have killed someone by now.

When she finally manages a clean shot, she jumps to her feet and tackles him. They both tumble to the floor. "I hit something! It is far away, but I hit it, yes? I am amazing!"

She sits up and grins widely at him and it is almost contagious, her happiness, it even makes him smile a little before he remembers this is fucking  _China_ and he immediately scowls at her. "Don't get cocky, you brat. Talk to me when you've got a bull's eye or at least a headshot."

She narrows her eyes at him. "How often do  _you_ hit your target?"

Every time he aims for it. Every single time. "All the time, without even trying, China girl. That's just how g—"

His voice falls short and they look at each other in silence. Far, far below, cars honk and screech at one another like animals talking.

"…that's just how good I am," he finishes quietly.

She shifts in place; her fingers brush against his hand and instead of jerking away her pinky hooks around his. Everything in the universe is alive again.

"…show me."

His throat closes up briefly. "What?"

"I want to see how useless you are, yes? Show me."

Sougo sits up and smirks at her, arranging his expression into one of smugness. "You sure your fragile self-esteem can handle watching me?"

She folds her arms. There is steel in her gaze and no playfulness at all. "Hurry up, sadist. It is not polite to make a lady wait, yes?"

It only takes him seconds to adjust everything to his convenience, as routine as breathing. It's like having all of his limbs fully functional again. His body is moving on its own, acting out memorized motions. He puts his hands on the rifle, gentle as a lover, and peers through the scope.

The first thing he sees is people. People moving across the crosshairs.

Targets.

His vision blurs, focuses, then blurs again. A city melting along with its people nothing makes sense. His fingers twitch. His heartbeat drums against his ears, his ears are ringing from an explosion that has already happened but is also about to happen, he breathes and he breathes but he's too loud, he aims somewhere else, anywhere else, but he doesn't know where that is he can hear himself slowing his entire body down focus, focus on the target where who move  _move_ _—_

He is knocked to the floor and the world rushes back in with astounding clarity.

"Fuck," someone says. It takes him a moment to realize it's his own voice. Recognizing himself is suddenly overwhelming, and he says it again with more feeling. " _Fuck._ "

"Sadist." Small hands wrapping around his. "Sadist." He blinks and feels the wall against his back. He is sitting and he sees her kneeling in front of him, their hands between them. He is trembling so hard even her iron grip can't stop it. She reaches for his face instead and he tries to touch her but he can't make himself move. Her fingers in his hair. Her mouth close to his ear, her breaths soft unlike his, he can't make himself slow down. His forehead lands on her shoulder, he murmurs the same word, over and over, he feels the rise and fall of her chest. She cups her hand over his mouth, he hears her say, "Breathe, sadist" and he tries to obey.

He doesn't know how long it takes for the gasping and wheezing to pass. It feels like hours, but when he has finally calmed down enough to raise his head, the sun and its shadows are still where they were a while ago.

"China," he says. His hands are still clasped together and he doesn't trust himself to let go yet.

She is still stroking his head, still touching his face. "What?"

"You should keep your hair like that all the time."

Color rises to her cheeks, and she blinks at him. "You are still not fine, yes?"

"Stop talking," he rasps. "Your breath smells like rotten eggs."

She pinches his cheeks, and there's a softness in her gaze he has never seen before. "Next time we go out, let us just buy a new vacuum cleaner, yes?"

"Huh." He closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. "That sounds fine."

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you now know or at least have an idea of what's up with Sougo ~ Well I'm not trying to hide it. Not exactly waving a banner about it in your faces, either. You guys just figure it out at your own paces lol. Sougo will eventually find it in himself to talk about it.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Over the succeeding days, Sougo waits for China girl to bring the incident up. Every time she opens her mouth, he prepares himself to deflect her questions with skillfully woven bullshit, but it's usually just her demanding food. He eventually accepts that she's probably not going to mention it unless he does.

He has known her for more than two years now. Somewhere along the way they have even learned how to hold actual conversations without hitting each other, but knowing someone and living with them are two completely different things.

Often it's noisy. Because they have reached an unspoken understanding not to break anything else now that they live under the same roof, their verbal arguments have gotten more frequent, albeit noticeably less vicious. Predictably enough, the subject is usually his well-being.

"Did I hear you right, sadist? You are not going to eat? After I cooked such a delicious breakfast for you?"

"What part of that dog food is delicious? It's egg-on-rice, China, like everything else you have cooked."

"You look like a twig with American pubes on top of it, stupid!"

"Envy is an ugly emotion, fatty."

"I am voluminous, idiot sadist!"

Sougo can't think of a better comeback than that and starts laughing. She probably means voluptuous, which makes it infinitely funnier, and she shoves a spoonful of dog food into his open mouth.

(It's only much, much later that he realizes this is the first time he has laughed in weeks.)

But sometimes it's strangely peaceful, with them barely talking, just remaining in the same room, briefly bickering about unimportant things before lapsing back to comfortable silence.

She usually spends half the day cleaning or doing chores (they bought a new vacuum cleaner just a couple days after she ruined the old one) and complaining what a useless chihuahua he is, the other half planting herself in front of the television and munching on the contents of his pantry.

"Oi, that's my food, China."

"Then come and get it, sadist."

He wants to, but the couch is also extremely comfortable, so he just hurls one of the throw pillows at her.

However, there are days when she receives calls from the occasional client and has to leave the apartment.

"Good. Make sure you get hit by a bus on your way back," he tells her every time. But he also keeps an eye on the windows, looking for those familiar black shoes and pale ankles.

This is how Hijikata-san finds him when he enters the apartment without knocking like the rude bastard that he is. The mayo addict was given a spare key for emergency purposes, not for dumb random visits whenever he feels like it.

"Oi, you're there again," Hijikata-san says. Sougo listens to him take his shoes off. Then a pause. "Huh. You cleaned up. What happened to you? And is this—since when did you have boots this small?" A longer and much more ominous pause. "Is this a  _girl's_ boots?"

Sougo glances at him over his shoulder. "Stop acting like an idiot, Hijibaka. It suits you, but it's still annoying. I know the boss already told you China is living here."

Hijikata-san just stares at him. "He was serious," he says blankly. He blinks, then looks around as if seeing the world for the first time. "That bastard was actually  _serious._ "

Sougo returns his focus back to the windows.

Outside, a breeze sends a bunch of flyers skittering across the ground. One of them sticks briefly to the glass then sails away.

Hijikata-san walks around the couch and sits on the table, resting his elbows on his knees. He is still in his uniform, and the black circles under his eyes make him look like an extremely stressed panda. But his gaze is as sharp as ever.

"When was the last time you went out?"

So it begins. Sougo folds his arms. "Four days ago. China and I bought a vacuum cleaner because she wrecked our—my old one."

He doesn't like the look in Hijikata-san's eyes at all. It's a little too close to understanding.

"Good for you," he says without emotion. "And her, I suppose."

Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?

"She was being annoying about it," he says, sounding mildly defensive. "And like hell I was going to trust her with the task alone."

"Hmm."

Sougo scowls at nothing in particular, and Hijikata-san observes him for a moment.

"When was your most recent panic attack?"

Here he goes. "How many nicotine patches are you on right now?"

For a moment, Hijikata-san doesn't move. Then he pulls his left sleeve back, revealing three patches.

Sougo waits.

Hijikata-san yanks at his right sleeve and shows him another three patches.

He waits a bit more.

"Twenty-one milligrams each," Hijikata-san says.

For most people, nicotine patches mean they are trying to quit smoking. But Sougo knows better: Hijikata-san is in no way trying to quit. He is just digging himself a deeper grave.

Sougo smirks and tilts his head. "I bet there are two more. One on each ass cheek."

He doesn't crack a smile. "Answer me, Sougo."

Such a pain in the ass. Sougo makes a face and speaks in a high-pitched voice: "Six days ago,  _doctor_. Whatever do you think should I do,  _doctor_?"

"Why did you have a panic attack?"

"I remembered you are still alive and it dawned on me all over again how terrible that is."

"Sougo, take this seriously, dammit—"

"I seriously want to take your life, if that's what you're asking—"

"Sougo!"

He drops the act in frustration and jumps to his feet. "You're not my fucking shrink, Hijibaka!"

"If you want me to leave you alone then you should have gone to the  _mandatory_  counseling instead of trying to resign just because you don't want to  _actually_ fucking deal with it like the rest of us!"

"Then fire me already so it won't be mandatory."

"That's not the goddamn point here!" Hijikata-san takes a deep breath. "And as if we can fire you." His voice is barely above a murmur. "You are our best, Sougo. You already knew that and you were proud of it." A wry look crosses his face. "A little too proud, but I'd take  _that_ over whatever the hell it is you're doing to yourself."

"I'm fine already, Hijibaka. The apartment is clean, I'm showering and eating, I'm walking and talking and breathing so get the fuck out. I'm changing my locks."

Hijikata-san stands. "The freelancer girl cleaned the apartment, Sougo. You're showering and eating to shut her up and you're walking and talking and breathing because that is as far as you can manage on your own." He takes out a pack of cigarettes and his weird lighter. He inclines his head, his expression almost soft. "I wouldn't call that  _fine._ I'd call it  _emotionally dependent."_

The mayo freak sometimes says things that are so painfully accurate Sougo can't help but hate him for it. This time is no exception. "You're learning a lot of big words from your shrink, Hijikata-san. Congratulations. And don't you dare light a single fucking stick under this roof."

"I know that." His hands shake just a little bit like he is trying to hide it, but the lighter's and the cigarette pack's tremors give him away. "I may not have known everything she wanted, but I know the things she didn't want and this—" Hijikata-san gestures toward him. "—is one of them."

Sougo curls his lip. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hijibaka."

Hijikata-san shakes his head. "I've told Kondo-san you're doing better on your own so he won't come here. But there's a huge difference between healing and distracting yourself from the pain, and if I have to, I will tell him just how badly you're doing."

"No," Sougo immediately says, hating how young he sounds. "You  _wouldn't_."

"I'm not rushing you and I'm not going to force you to do anything. It's just—" He sighs heavily. He opens the lighter, closes it, looks at the street-level windows where everything is always moving, and looks back at him. "You're clearly not alright _,_ Sougo."

"Says the insomniac chainsmoker trying to overdose himself."

"This is different—"

"Hypocritical as always, Hijikata-san. Does Kondo-san know?"

This is how China girl finds them when she enters the apartment, already complaining about how smelly the place has become during her brief absence.

She stops talking when she sees them. Even she can sense how tense the atmosphere is. "Sadist?"

Sougo doesn't turn to look at her. "Typical China. All you had to do was get hit by a bus and you couldn't even accomplish that."

Something in his voice makes her stride quickly across the room. "...sadist?"

Hijikata-san gives him one last look and starts toward the door. "I have to go finish a report. I'll be back next week."

"Mayora?"

"Oi. Tell that permhead I already dropped by to check if he hasn't done anything weird to you."

"Why does everyone think I'm a pervert?" Sougo wonders out loud.

But Hijikata-san is already out the door and he is closing it behind him and the two of them are left with silence.

Sougo sinks to the couch, drained. Within seconds she is in front of him, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed.

She pokes his leg repeatedly like the needy little imp that she is.

"I went looking for a mutant cat," she tells him when he doesn't say anything. "It was big, yes?" She stretches her arms to demonstrate just how big. "It looked a bit like you, sadist. All stupid and angry-looking."

"You mistaking me for a mirror, China?" He leans back. He wants to sleep. Or kill Hijikata-san. He's actually kind of motivated.

"All angsty male characters think they look brooding and manly and cool, yes?" She slaps her hands on his knees and pushes herself up to look more closely at him. "When in fact you all look like dummies who eat Anego's cooking regularly, yes?"

"Take your sweaty paws off me." He looks at her and finds her face too close for comfort. Her hair is in a single plait, messy from all the running and chasing she probably did, and there are stray wisps of it plastered to her forehead, brushing against her cheeks, her jaw. If he lets himself look closely, he will know which exact shade of blue her eyes are and how small and pink and soft her mouth is.

 _If_ he lets himself, that is. Which he will not.

Sougo yanks hard at her braid before anything even remotely stupid can cross his mind.

She snarls and tries to punch him in the crotch. He catches her wrists, plants his foot against her stomach, and swings her overhead, sending her tumbling to the floor behind the couch.

He stands just as she scrambles to her feet. She glares at him for a moment, then stomps toward the kitchen.

"...what the hell are you doing, you brat?"

"I am getting knives, stupid! My umbrella will do too much damage to the apartment, yes? But I must kill you once and for all!"

Sougo rubs his temples. He did not intend to turn this into a full-blown fight. First, Hijikata-san's lecture, and now  _this_. He's too tired for this shit. "Oi, China."

The ominous sound of steel scraping against each other.

He goes with a surefire strategy to guarantee his nap and his apartment's safety. "If you put those down, I'll make you dinner."

Silence.

Fucking China. " _Un_ poisoned dinner."

Her head pops out of the kitchen's doorway. She watches him for a bit like a creep.

Then abruptly, with narrowed eyes: "What did Mayora say to you, sadist?"

Of  _all_  the fucking times for her tiny brain to actually function...

He tries to look disdainful. "What, you don't want dinner, China?"

She comes out of the kitchen, lips pressed into a thin line, and he sees her guarded eyes for the first time.

The entire history of the world must have passed before she finally speaks again.

"You will cook  _us_ dinner, yes? You will eat with me."

In his head, Hijikata-san is still sitting in front of him with his panda eyes and shaking hands. There's some kind of mirror in there, somewhere. He just doesn't want to dwell on it.

"As long as you don't eat my portion, China," he says, but she does not look satisfied at all.

#

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are so hard to write, you guys. Especially at this point in the story. Constructive criticism will be appreciated.
> 
> Also, do let me know ASAP if/when you detect even the tiniest bit of OOC-ness or character inconsistency. Just. Anything that seems off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally. I'm slowing down because I need to be careful writing these parts. Gotta be careful to communicate the right emotions ~
> 
> And oh! incredibleflan drew a super nice fanart based on the last scene from chapter three. Check it out: sidsinning.tumblr.com/post/171257494651/

He will never tell her this, but the way she speaks—rudeness, bluntness, vulgarity and all—is one of his favorite things about her.

When talking to the boss on the phone: "Gin-chan, you have been gone for a while, yes?" A pause while the boss answers. "Then pull the plug then come back here." Audible screaming of obscenities. "Fine. Take your time, yes? I will send a 'get well' card."

(She makes him come with her to send said card. Which is a coupon for a sukonbu promo with the words 'get well' scrawled on the back. He remarks on how rude it is so she draws a smiley at the bottom.)

While watching porn on his television, brow furrowed in deep thought: "I can totally do  _that_ , yes? I am flexible enough."

(He smacks her on the head for that one.  _Then_ he smacks himself for the images in his head.)

On particularly bad mornings: "Oi, sadist! Are you dead?" A brief silence. " _Finally._ "

Sometimes the annoying satisfaction in her voice is all he needs to hear to make him get out of bed. Just barely functioning is his own triumph. He keeps waiting for her to take advantage of this, to call him weak, pitiful, pathetic, any of which would drive him to try harder out of pure spite.

But when she does acknowledge a weakness of his, she brings up the last thing he expected her to.

"Was that a panic attack?" she asks, piling her buttered toasts on top of one another.

He freezes for a second, the butter knife hovering over his toast. At first glance this seems to come out of nowhere, but this is China girl. She has probably had this question on the tip of her tongue as soon as she saw it happen, but for reasons he can only guess at, she has chosen to restrain herself.

Until now.

He moves casually as he continues with his breakfast. "You need to be a little clearer, China. Your pea-sized brain doesn't function the same way normal ones like mine do."

She is relentless in everything she does. "How often do you have those, sadist?"

He takes a bite and chews slowly. She doesn't blink or look away from him.

He swallows. Sets the bread back on the plate. "Where is this coming from?"

She starts on her own pile of toast, then devours them in seconds. She smacks her lips in appreciation, then glowers at him. "You know where this is coming from, yes? Did you know that would happen if you used a gun again?"

The tightness in his chest begins. " _You_  told me to show you, China."

"And you  _just_ do  _everything_  I tell you to, don't you, sadist?"

The edge in her voice creeps into his. "What the fuck is your problem?"

" _I_ am not the one with the problem, yes?"

He glares at her. Seconds drip by. "Have you been talking to Hijikata-san?"

Her fingers curl around the edge of the table. "So what—"

"China," he says in the calmest voice he can muster. "We are  _not_ going to talk about this."

She opens her mouth, closes it. Her face crumples like she is going to cry, but she just slides out of her chair. She walks out of the kitchen without another word. He listens to her bare feet slapping against the floor, the clatter of her shoes, the door whining open. Then she slams it shut.

Sougo stares at where she was just sitting a while ago. She has  _never_ walked out on him before, especially not in the middle of an argument. He nibbles on his toast and gets to his feet, clearing the table and dumping the plates in the sink. He looks out the archway leading to the living room and just stands there, trying to grasp that she  _just fucking did that._ She just walked out on him like she does it everyday, and it stuns him because he can't do the same thing to her.

In his mind's eye, Hijikata sits in front of him and mouths the words  _emotionally dependent._

"I'm not emotionally dependent," Sougo says out loud to the apartment, and the apartment does not contest this claim.

He stays there until he finishes his toast. All around him, silence.

He drags himself out of the kitchen, heading towards his couch, but he finds himself stopping in front of the spare bedroom she has nested in. He raises his arm with painstaking slowness and opens the door.

The room before China: Bed with stripped mattress in the far corner opposite the door. Clean white sheets folded on top of pillows. Tape marks and faded paint on the wall beside it. To his left, an empty corkboard, scarred. Pins in a small case on top of the dresser below. The dresser, hollow. A full-length mirror beside it, reflecting the bedroom and nothing else. To his right, a desk and a chair. The desk, dark wood with leaves engraved along the edges. Drawer handles like small bronze snakes. The chair, sleek and upholstered with leather the color of cream. The desk and the chair, both unoccupied. A trash can near the door, clean.

The room now: Bed with bright red sheets edged with gold. Pillows tangled with the blanket. To his left, a corkboard with various notes pinned on it. The dresser, half-open, clothes struggling to get out of it. Hairbrush, hair ornaments, a tray full of hair ties, powder, rubbing alcohol, other bottles and tubes he doesn't fully recognize, scattered on top. A full-length mirror reflecting the bedroom and its colors. Its colors. To his right, the desk. A small pink box stuffed with unused post-its of various colors, an uncapped pen and her phone (fucking idiot leaving the apartment without her phone) beside it. The chair, sleek and draped with her pajamas, a white cheongsam he has never seen her wear, and pants. A trash can filled with crumpled paper and plastic wrappers.

Sougo lingers at the doorway, unable to identify the feeling in his chest as he looks around. He remembers cleaning this room, scraping it clean of personality until he didn't recognize it anymore.

And now. All around him, her.

He takes one step inside. His quick, shallow breaths are all he hears as he walks further in. He hasn't entered this room in ages.

His gaze lands on the corkboard. He's not going to look through her things, but he can't help it if he just happens to  _see_ whatever it is China busies herself with these days. He isn't really snooping. Just observing. He steps closer to the board and tries to read her clumsy handwriting.

_Eat lots of sukonbu. Make lots of money. Kill sadist._

Sougo snorts.

_Call Gin-chan every day. Drop by Anego's place to get eggs._

Hopefully the ones she hasn't cooked yet.

_Missing: Hiro-chan. Mutant cat. Big, black, fluffy. Red eyes. Don't forget to search! Get paid!_

He sighs in exasperation. She found the damn cat nearly  _a week_ ago and she hasn't even updated her reminders.

A series of notes pinned very close to one another catches his attention, and he peers closely at them.

_Idiot sadist is not eating._

_Buy vegetables. meat. curry sauce mix. Make curry! Make sadist eat!_

_Make sure sadist eats breakfast. Kill him if he doesn't! Egg-on-rice. Lunch: grilled fish? or egg-on-rice. Buy fish. Dinner: egg-on-rice._

_Sadist's breakfast: egg-on-rice (or toast? check if there is butter). Sadist's lunch: egg-on-rice. Sadist's dinner: egg-on-rice (tonkatsu if he behaves! buy bread crumbs just in case)_

_Don't give up on sadist! Maybe shooting stuff will cheer the idiot up?_

His throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper, Sougo straightens. He stares ahead of him, unseeing, and leaves the room as quietly as he entered it.

* * *

He's sitting on the floor just in front of the door, a bowl of egg-on-rice and a pair of chopsticks before him, when China girl comes back.

She jumps and nearly drops the box she's carrying when she sees him. She regains her footing and scowls as she makes her way to him. "Are you an idiot, chihuahua? What are you doing there?"

Sougo folds his arms and nudges the bowl forward with a toe.

She blinks at him. Then she kneels and slides the box of what appears to be takoyaki towards him.

They stare at each other. Neither of them move to take the other's offering.

"China girl," he finally says. "I'm sorry for earlier."

She redirects her scowl to the floor. "I'm sorry, too. Stupid."

"Okay."

"Hmph."

They both nod a little, and just like that, Sougo feels lighter.

He opens the takoyaki box. She reaches for the bowl.

A beat passes. And another. Then—

"You fucking brat! You already ate half of them, dammit!"

"You useless sadist! It is already cold, yes? It will be no good at all!"

"Oi, I worked hard on that dog food, you bitch!"

"And  _I_  worked hard to steal Mayora's wallet, you punk!"

Surprised but pleased, he raises his eyebrows. "Huh." After a moment's hesitation, he lifts the box to his lap, scoots closer to the wall, and leans against it. He inclines his head and pats the floor beside him. "Care to tell me more about it, China?"

Radiating pride, smugness, and a general air of superiority, she grabs the bowl and the chopsticks and sits down, too. Her shoulder presses against his.

As they eat, she corrects herself: she didn't  _really_ steal his wallet. She just borrowed it without his knowledge and permission. Hijikata-san was on his break, eating mayonnaise with rice at a cheap-ass stall near work when China spotted him, the edge of his wallet sticking right out of his pocket. And she didn't  _really_ borrow it without his knowledge. She snatched it from him and knocked him unconscious with a ball-breaking kick in the crotch, went to buy takoyaki, then returned the wallet to its rightful owner and bolted before anyone could try to arrest her.

Sometime during her story she finishes her food and rests her cheek on his shoulder, continuing as if in every universe that has ever existed, she touches him like this all the time and it is nothing of consequence.

Sougo ignores the sudden and irregular swell of his lungs, then tells her she should use his credit card next time.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was kinda cheesy, but what the hell. I enjoyed writing it. As always, your inputs help. Next chapter will probably take a while, too. Proofreading and editing takes twice as long as writing the damn thing lol.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exam week is done, so I'll be a little quicker for a bit. Enjoy ~

It has been more or less two weeks since she has forced herself into his home, and China is moping.

She tries to hide it, of course. She works, she goes to bother the Shimuras regularly (often bringing home dark matter which will serve as ammunition for the next time they have a childish fight), and she maintains an annoyingly upbeat demeanor that only makes his head ache. To a casual observer, nothing seems off.

However, Sougo is pretty attuned to her moods and can instantly detect the slightest changes. Living with her has only sharpened his senses. He knows she is sad and he knows looking at him makes her sadder.

He once leaves the apartment to avoid her, already convinced that she, too, is avoiding him (because he is not what she needs to help her with this). He walks down the length of the street, fists in his pockets, head covered with a cap. The city hits him with its loudness and brightness: traffic lights LED screens cars and car horns engines an army of feet falling countless limbs swinging language and voices and laughter bodies bumping and bodies wrapped in color. Everything moving and unmoving, alive all at once.

He stops and walks back home because he is running out of air too fast, then he starts running. He shoulders people aside, hears them curse and complain about young people with no manners, and runs faster.

Sougo only manages to stop in front of their building because he sees her sitting on the steps. Taken aback, he walks up to her.

She has just finished taking a bath. He knows this because he can smell soap and strawberry-scented shampoo. Her uncombed hair falls all around her face, and it is beneath the morning light that he finally understands why fanfic writers call her hair color 'vermilion' instead of just 'red'.

The inside of his mouth suddenly feels very dry.

"Oi." He nudges her with a foot. "Hobos aren't allowed near this building."

She blinks at him. The blue of her eyes is electric. "Where were you?"

Sougo raises his gaze and watches the people moving past them. "What the hell is it to you, China? If you want stalking lessons, go ask the gorilla."

She stands. "You cannot just leave like that without telling me, yes?"

Very slowly, he turns to look at her. "Or else what?"

She swells with poorly contained anger. "Or else I—I—" He can practically hear various threats zooming through her tiny head, and she frowns because none of them is up to her standards, and she turns redder and redder, he can feel her panicking as she probably realizes she did not think this entire thing through, and she ends up shouting: "Or else I will get lonely, yes?!"

Aha.

They both fall quiet under the weight of her words.

Her outrage eventually transforms into embarrassment. "As if, stupid sadist!" Then she kicks him in the shin.

He barely dodges. After some consideration, he makes an educated guess. "The boss's absence finally getting to you, huh?"

She snorts so fiercely an elephant would have felt insecure upon hearing it. "That good-for-nothing can stay there forever for all I care!"

Bull's eye.

"If you say so." Sougo watches her. She is  _so_ bad at repression it makes professionals like him cringe. He looks out at the sea of people, and the thought of moving among them floods his insides with cold. He glances back at her.

Stupid, needy, ugly hobo.

He removes his cap and places it on her head. "Let's eat outside today, China."

"Really?" Her eyes shine, and she grins. "So you are not completely useless, sa—" She stops herself. Her eyes narrow into slits, and the grin falls off her face. She folds her arms, her jaw set. "No."

Sougo gapes at her. What the fuck is her problem now?

The cap tilts, covering her eyes, and she pushes it up with a huff. "Let us just cook for ourselves, yes?"

"China girl—"

"I want to stay at home!" she whines.

Sougo scratches his head. She obviously wanted to eat outside just seconds ago. He stares at her, reviewing past events, past interactions. It doesn't take him long to pinpoint the reason.

"Goddammit, China, I can handle this," he says. "I don't need you spending what precious little brainpower you have worrying about me."

She turns her back on him and stomps her way up the steps. "What are you flapping your gums about, sadist? Hurry up, we have lots to cook, yes?"

* * *

 

It is past midday by the time they have cooked enough for a dozen people. Or a small feast. Or a Yato pig (plus Sougo).

He eats on the couch. She glues her ass on the floor beside the table where more servings wait to be devoured. She sits facing the television, close enough for him to kick.

He watches her instead of the drama. She's just as entertaining, anyway. Long after he is done, bowl after bowl of rice keeps disappearing into her mouth. By the end of the episode, there is no more left, only a tower of empty bowls beside her.

She turns off the television and cradles her swollen belly, sighing in contentment. Sougo observes as she stares ahead, as the expression on her face changes, morphs to sullenness. So transparent, his China girl.

"China," he says.

She turns to look at him with eyes that remind him of an abandoned puppy.

Sougo sighs. "You're a clingy brat, aren't you?" She continues to sit there in silence and he rolls his eyes. "Why didn't you go with the boss if you're just going to do  _that_?"

She crawls to the couch and curls into a little ball of sulkiness beside him. "Are you an idiot, idiot? When Gin-chan says he is going to a fight alone, he will go to a fight alone. Then Shinpachi and I will follow him there anyway, yes?"

"But this isn't a fight," Sougo says, watching her.

She hugs her knees. "...no. It is his Papi. He is dying. And Gin-chan should be with him, yes? He should only be there as his Papi's idiot son, nothing else." She kicks empty air like a moron, her features twisted in frustration. "We cannot be there for him yet, yes?"

Of course she feels bad. She's  _her._ She places unrealistically high values on the people around her and considers at least a part of everyone else's misery her own. If they refuse to share the burden, she gets pissy. He thinks about her walking out on him and decides that worlds like hers are too fragile.

He watches himself reach out then tug at her loose hair, wrapping tendrils of it around his fingers. She raises her chin, blinking, then eyes his hand.

"…what are you doing, sadist?"

He has no idea. "Just bored, China girl."

She turns toward him, meets his gaze. Because she is her, because she is transparent and she is clear as day, he sees the entire length of her thoughts pass across her face and knows exactly what she is about to say.

"You have always been a big fat liar, yes?"

His hand stills. Untangles itself from her hair. Tries to draw away. But she catches it in hers, neither of them attempt to hit each other, and the sky remains in place.

"The only fat thing here is you, China," he says, his voice soft.

When she speaks, she is just as quiet. "I am voluminous—"

"Voluptuous, you dolt—"

"So you agree with me, yes?"

Sougo just looks at her. They have not raised their voices at all. In fact, he can feel all the sounds in the room shrinking, until he can hear his own breaths moving inside him, and he can hear hers moving inside her.

She lets go of his hand. "What do you really do these days, sadist? I know you do not go to that hotel anymore."

He stopped because a military sniper rifle should only be used by someone who is dead certain that they can pull the trigger. If he aims to hit the dummies' heads, he must hit the dummies' heads. If he aims to kill, he must kill. A sniper with shaking hands is no sniper at all.

His voice comes out scratchy, like he hasn't used it in years: "The windows."

She tilts her head. "What?"

Sougo leans against the backrest. "Get your ass over here and I'll show you."

She scoots way too close to him because she's needy and annoying like that. But he lets his arm fall around her because he's dumb like that.

(And because she's here, with him.)

"Now what?" she demands.

He flicks her on the forehead and points to the windows. She elbows him in the gut then looks where he's pointing.

The street is the same as always, the sidewalk still the same shade of gray it became during the countless times the sunlight hit it in the same exact spot it is hitting now. Shoes, slippers and canes still rise and fall after one another, varying in size and color and material, some worn and faded and unraveling, while some are new and hand-stitched, and there are shoes with glinting buckles, shoes made of shiny leather, of suede, boots lined with fur, and there are colorful slippers and there are black and gray and brown ones. There are ankles of varying colors and thickness and degree of boniness. There are different types of gait: strutting, romping, striding, simply walking, skipping, shuffling. There are the sure feet of the confident then there is the walk of the lost. Some know their purpose and speed towards it with no hesitation. Others take their time. Occasionally someone with remarkable footwear passes by and even he and China can hear their footsteps from inside.

Today, he did not turn the television on for background noise. But he didn't need to. Once in a while, she exclaims over someone's pretty shoes, mocks the ones that don't suit her tastes, sees a familiar pair and wonders if she knows the person wearing it. When someone stops, she gives each shoe its own voice (always one has a deep voice and the other speaks in falsetto) and quotes dialogues from dramatic scenes until whoever it is walks away.

Today, he turns his attention away from the windows and looks at her. He is close enough to see the flickering colors reflected on her eyes. And when she grimaces or burps or laughs or makes one of those ugly but funny expressions she inherited from the boss, he can make out the new lines etched on her face. For some reason it becomes dreadfully important that he remember them. Each and every single one of them.

Today, they lean against each other. Somewhere in the world there must be a statue that looks like this. Her hands find his and she plays with his fingers and suddenly everything that is buried learns how to hurt. The silence when she stops talking is not oppressive, only patient.

And today, he tells her, "I'm scared of shrinks. That's why I didn't attend the mandatory counseling." He tightens his hold on her and she grips his hand. "But if I go back to work, I won't have a choice."

"Okay," she says. "Okay."

She rests her head on his chest, eyes on the windows. "You can slack off for as long as you need to, yes? I will be a breadeater, just like Papi."

"Breadwinner," he corrects, pressing his cheek against her hair.

"If I win bread, I will eat it. There is no difference, yes?"

"China."

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Of course, she makes a sound like an angry kitten and tries to hit him, but he just holds her tighter, whispers "China girl" in her ear. Her face turns red and she calls him stupid then she snuggles closer to him.

This sea of red hair.

(Strawberries have never been more sensual than they are in this moment.)

Hard muscle beneath soft skin.

(What would it be like to sink his teeth into her?)

The slowness of her breathing. The sound of her clothes rustling as she moves. How easily she falls asleep. Her hand his hand. The way they fit.

This is nice, he decides. This is  _really_ nice.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the chapter I had the most fun writing so far lol. With that said, there might be some things I missed or did in a less-than-stellar manner. Criticisms are always welcome ~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I was not as quick as I wanted to be, and this chapter probably isn't too great, so sorry for that. But I'll just do better next time. Hope you have fun anyway.

There are many different vehicles for loneliness. Most of the people Sougo knows (including himself) ride it in subways where they will be underground, where they can blend in and pretend to be just as indifferent as everyone else.

China girl, on the other hand, tears down highways in a muscle car, its powerful engine announcing its presence even as it passes out of sight.

While she has her tsundere moments, she does not hesitate to show she cares. She calls the boss whenever she feels like it (whenever she misses him), and is even clingier when she's feeling blue.

It's a nice afternoon, perfect for a nap, and he is about to fall asleep on the couch when a huge object throws itself on top of him and knocks the breath out of his lungs. He nearly gets up, but he sees said object wearing a pitiful expression he can't make himself relish.

"What the fuck, China?"

She rests her elbow on his chest like he's her goddamn bed, cradling her chin. Her legs, smooth and  _bare_ , graze his. "I cannot sleep," she informs him.

Sougo closes his eyes. "Well, I can. So fuck off."

"Show some respect, you freeloader! That is not how you should talk to the breadeater of this household, yes?" She flicks his forehead and he catches her hand before she can snatch it back. She tries to yank it away from him, making little growling noises as she does so, and with every little movement he is reminded that she has  _breasts_  and they are fucking rubbing against him.

"This is my apartment, you brat!" He grabs her face and attempts to shove her off him. "And you're still living off my damn savings! Get off, fatty!"

She bites his hand and clamps herself tighter onto him like a leech. "I do not want to nap alone, idiot sadist!"

He sucks in a breath as her grip nearly pops his ribs out of his chest. "Like I give a fuck about what you want." If he looks at her, he will give in, so he glares at the ceiling. But she has stopped trying to squeeze him to death and now she's just sort of lying there, making sad kitten-like noises. He lets himself glance at her very quickly to assess the situation, then sighs when he sees her giving him a forlorn thousand-yard stare.

Sougo squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples. "The rate is 300 yen per second. Plus 150 if there is cuddling."

She blinks up at him _._ "I will pay you with my—"

He smacks a hand over her face. "Your body isn't worth even a fraction of a yen, brat!"

She slaps his wrist away. "That is not what my customers say, yes?"

"Oi, what customers? What kind of shady freelancing business are you running?"

But she has already rested her cheek on his chest with a contented sigh, her legs straddling his. She's asleep within seconds.

He touches the back of her head. "Fucking China," he mutters.

Her fingers curl ever so slightly on his shirt. The movement makes a sound like moments stretching.

* * *

All too aware of the pig lying on top of him, Sougo can't think of anything boring enough (not even Hijikata-san) to make him drowsy again. With every breath she takes comes the reminder that  _she has breasts and they're pressed against him_ and they're so damn soft and  _god,_ the things he can do to them—

The door whines open.

"Huh. So you didn't change the locks."

Sougo almost jerks upright. He has forgotten that Hijikata-san is a complete bastard who doesn't notify people when he's coming to visit. And here he is, fantasizing about a brat whose snores rival a chorale of a dozen seeping pigs.

"Sougo?" Footsteps.

When Hijikata-san enters his line of sight and sees them, he stops and says nothing. He blinks and stares. Sougo glares and does his best to project a strong murderous intent. There is not much he can do without waking the idiot up.

Hijikata-san opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it. He blinks some more. Then he shrugs and sits down on the table.

"So." He clasps his hands together. His eyes are dark and he looks more like a panda than ever. "When was the last time you went out?"

Sougo feels whatever vestiges of horniness he felt go down the drain.

The same questions. Every single time.

"Five days ago."

"When was your most recent panic attack?"

"Eighteen days ago." He realizes that it's almost been ten seconds since the beginning of the conversation and he hasn't threatened or mocked Hijikata-san at all, but he just wants this over so the mayo freak will leave. The less he says, the quicker this will be.

Hijikata-san's hand twitches toward his pocket. "Why did you have a panic attack?"

Sougo looks away from him and realizes he's clutching the back of China's cheongsam. He loosens his fingers, one by one, but keeps his hand there.

"Why do  _you_ use nicotine patches?"

"Why did you have a panic attack?"

"How many packs do you smoke in a day?"

"Why did you have a panic attack?"

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Why—" Hijikata-san grits his teeth and grabs a fistful of his own hair. His breaths and China's snores divide the passing silence.

Hijikata-san has always been the one asking the difficult questions, but he is functioning so well that he's probably never had to give the difficult answers. He's most likely lying his ass off to Kondo-san regarding his own condition, assuring the gorilla that there is absolutely nothing to worry about.

Fucking hypocrite.

"I promised," the hypocrite says in a low voice. "I promised her I would look after you, Sougo."

Of course he did. He's  _him._ Among Hijikata-san's countless flaws is his inability to accept that there  _are_ such things as uncontrollable. That he cannot micromanage every little thing that happens under his supervision.

"There you go again, making useless promises." Sougo draws circles on the small of China's back and she makes a happy little sound that he will later dwell on for far too long. "I don't need to be looked after, Hijibaka. Lately I've been feeling more homicidal than I have in the past weeks, so expect a murder attempt soon."

Hijikata-san rests his chin on his knuckles and just watches him for an unsettlingly long time. The problem with the mayo freak is that unlike China, he is capable of being completely unreadable. And he looks like a total creep, too.

(So what did  _she_  ever see in him?)

"Not for a while, I think," Hijikata-san finally says, straightening. He reaches into his pocket and takes his lighter out. He watches it tremble along with him, tightens his grip on it, then stands.

Sougo follows him with his gaze. Everything that runs the length of his tongue is flippant and full of shit and he cannot make himself say any of it to a mayo addict whose eyes have somehow grown darker. (Because of him? Because of  _her_?)

There are many different vehicles for loneliness. Most people, including Sougo, ride it in subways. China girl rides it in a muscle car.

Hijikata-san simply walks.

Sougo shakes his head a little. "Make yourself useful and bring food next time, Hijibaka."

The freak seems to consider it. "What, running out of things to feed your wife?"

It takes every ounce of his will to keep a straight face. "What the fuck are you talking about? Getting delirious from sleep deprivation, Hijibaka?"

Hijikata-san just shrugs. "If you want." He takes his phone out, peers at it with a serious expression. Then the very audible sound of a camera shutter gives him away.

Sougo twitches. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sending this to the perm-brain."

"Oi!"

"Keep it down, you'll wake your wife up."

"Who are you calling my wife, dammit?"

Hijikata-san taps his phone a few times, then pockets it. "There. He'll probably try to kill you as soon as he gets back. It'll be good for you. You need the exercise."

Unable to move, Sougo resorts to making threatening noises. "What kind of shitty police office encourages murder?"

Hijikata-san makes his way to the door. "I don't want to hear that from a shitty police officer who likes murder."

Sougo listens to him put his shoes on. "If you put mayonnaise on the food you're bringing, I'll kill you and piss on all the mayonnaise you've stocked up. Then I'll kill you some more."

The door opens. Hijikata-san's footsteps. Then a soft voice Sougo can't read: "I'll be looking forward to it."

When he is gone, Sougo lets himself wrap an arm around China. He cradles the back of her head. She hums and rubs her cheek against his shirt, murmuring a bunch of words that do not make sense.

The afternoon is pleasant, perfect for a nap. And still he cannot fall asleep. While he waits for himself to doze off, he thinks about the drastic measures people take to hide presence, and the even more drastic measures they take to hide absence.

"China," he says, and she snores at him. There's something dangerously close to fondness in the way he holds her closer to him as he carefully sits up a little and leans on the couch's armrest. She hums and burrows into his chest, muttering something that sounds like 'sadist'. He says "China" again because he's competitive. Her snores resume without a hitch.

The things he will do to keep this going.

He wants to tell her what it's like to sleep alone, but he doesn't know how to.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I'm unsatisfied with this chapter's quality (or maybe it's just shorter than the others? Idk honestly haha), but because I'm the author and thus a subjective judge, I can't pinpoint all the little things that contribute to its suckiness. Sooo I'd appreciate it if you could tell me which parts made it not-so-great if you coould. Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter I also enjoyed writing. You guys have fun, too ~

_If you touch our Kagura-chan again, Sousuke-kun, I'll disembowel you._

Sougo sips his coffee as he replies. He types  _Boss,_ _it's Sougo_ for what feels like the hundredth time and sends it. He has received no less than five death threats since he woke up, and at least ten each day ever since the boss received 'damning evidence of his lechery' from Hijikata-san.

He pockets his phone and leans against the kitchen sink stacked with plates and utensils. He takes the towel off his wet hair and drinks slowly, listening to the faint sound of the shower running.

Now and then he remembers the small, meaningless intimacies that should have been good reasons to kick China girl out but are also his safest places. Things like the way their voices always find each other when they are bickering, even if they are in different rooms, and the sound of her footsteps, the television turning on, doors closing and opening, just knowing she is here somewhere and he is not just a ghost haunting himself.

He finishes his coffee as the shower stops, stares down at the dark dregs ringing the bottom of the mug, swirls them around for a bit. When he looks ahead through the archway, he can see meager pieces of sunlight scrabbling across the floor. Dust floating in empty space. On the wall to the right, closed door after closed door after closed door. This sight will last forever.

He sets the mug down on the counter. The sound it makes is loud amid the silence. He wants a gun in his hands. He doesn't have to shoot; he just wants to touch one because the world is quieter for him when he is holding a weapon.

And this is precisely why he will not allow himself a gun. That kind of half-assed thinking gets people killed.

The bathroom door opens and out comes China girl, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She hums as she shuffles toward her bedroom, complains about creepy perverts watching teenage girls leave the shower, then she goes inside.

"There's nothing to watch, moron," Sougo mutters, flexing his fingers. He still remembers the shape of every weapon he has ever held. He is the best at every single one of them.

He reaches behind him and takes a butter knife from the sink. Tosses it upward, catches it by the handle, slashes across empty air, reverses his grip and cuts again, flings it up, watches it fall. When it meets his palm, he clenches his fist around it.

Sougo is still playing with the knife when China comes out. Her hair is in a single bun on the back of her head, covered with an ornament. She approaches him, almost looking wary.

He stops and throws the knife back into the sink. Her gaze follows it, then flickers back to him.

"How irresponsible!" She stomps toward him. "You cannot just dump it like that after using it, yes? Did I raise you to be this way, sadist? Did I?"

"Who the hell raised whom now? You were still one of your mom's eggs and a drip of your dad's sperm when I was a kid, China."

She grabs the edge of the counter, eyes the sink with disdain. "Do not talk in such a vulgar manner in front of a lady." She whirls around and grabs him by the collar, yanking his face closer to hers. "And you did not even wash the dishes!"

"I don't see a lady. I see a servant. Get back to work, peasant," he says, and he is reminded that China girl is actually kind of beautiful in a really, really stupid way and being this close to her is giving him ideas. He grabs her face and shoves her away from him. She kicks him, he dodges, and thus begins a half-sparring, half-just-slapping-each-other-around session wherein they knock the table and chairs down and nothing explodes, which they are proud of. When they decide they've had enough of flopping around on the floor, they kick each other a few more times for closure, then lie there catching their breaths.

Eventually, Sougo drags himself up to reverse what minimal damage they have caused to the kitchen, and plucks the fallen towel off the floor. China just sits there because she's useless like that, and only stands when he's done. He watches her re-braid her hair and affix the ornament to the back of her head, and speaks without thinking.

"Let's go out today, China."

Her arms drop to her sides. "What?"

Sougo folds his arms. "You deaf? I said let's go out."

Her face twists. "No. I do not want to, yes?"

But she does. It's so obvious it's pathetic. People like her are meant to wander.

He raises his eyebrows. "I wasn't asking, China."

She glares at him, not quite meeting his gaze. "But you—you—"

Sougo throws the towel at her face and hears himself say, "I have somewhere I want to go to."

She rips the towel off her and stares at him. She chews over this for a while, frowning, and he steps closer to her, close enough that she has to crane her neck to look at him properly, but she doesn't and she keeps her gaze ahead. He rests his chin on the top of her head.

"China girl," he says like it's an argument, and she clutches his sleeve briefly.

"Okay." She chops at his throat and he gags and coughs and staggers away from her. "Okay. But I will enter no more shady hotels, yes? It is bad for my reputation."

* * *

They enter a shady hotel that towers over most of the surrounding buildings. China girl does not stop talking the entire way to the top floor, where there is a room always open for him. It helps to have connections (slaves) everywhere.

"I knew it! You do nothing but indecent things, yes? How many innocent women have become your victims? Does your mother know what you do with your free time, you twisted bastard? Do you think this will make her happy?" A pause as they leave the elevator. "Did you blackmail the owner, too?" Another pause as they walk down a hallway Sougo sees every time he closes her eyes. "How come you tax robbers do not arrest yourselves?" A door with hinges that barely make a sound as it opens. "We respectable citizens are wasting our money on—"

Her abrupt silence swallows the room. Sougo nudges the door shut and approaches the windows directly opposite them.

"Sadist." Her footsteps right behind him. A small hand on his back.

He takes a deep breath. Another. Again. Shit. Who told him this was a good idea?

"We can go anywhere else, yes?" Her voice sounds small from where he's standing.

"Hmm." Sougo places his hands on the sill and looks out the window.

Precisely 1050 meters from where he stands there is a massive garden where university students occasionally gather to study plants and shit. From there, 850 meters to the west and 908 meters to the south, there should be tall buildings, commercial spaces filled with people in suits, and 941 meters to the east, there should be another shady hotel, paint peeling off its walls.

Instead in their places, metal frames cradle half-built structures, cranes looming beside them, people as small as ants crawling all over the ruins.

Sougo can feel China burying her face between his shoulder blades. She toys with the hem of his shirt.

He exhales loudly, rubbing his face with both hands. "Alright," he says to no one. "Alright."

He turns around and she doesn't step back. "Let us just go, yes?" she tells him. "You can feed me later."

He tugs at her cheek. "Thanks to you, China, we're close to fucking broke. You need to starve for a couple weeks so we can get back on our feet."

She opens her mouth and he clamps his hand over it. "No. You are  _not_ paying anyone with your prepubescent body—"

She shakes his hand off and grabs her own breasts. " _This_ is not prepubescent, yes?"

He slaps her wrists away from her chest. "Stop that, you idiot."

She slaps him back. "Are you trying to tell me what to do, punk?"

He whacks her on the head. "Snot-nosed brats should respect the wishes of their elders."

She whacks him right back with her umbrella. "Stop talking like a useless old geezer, you useless old geezer!"

"Rich, coming from a useless old hag. I bet your breasts are all shriveled and wrinkly."

"Excuse  _me,_ I am flawless, yes?"

"Flawless  _where_?"

And from there the argument devolves into a brawl. Whatever training and experience they've accumulated are immediately thrown out the window as they kick, punch, bite, scratch everything they can reach. Eventually she manages to kick him into the side of the bed. The impact smashes him straight through the furniture and slams him against the opposite wall.

Sougo groans and shakes his head, trying to clear it. He blinks and sees China staring at the broken bed with wide eyes. She turns slowly to him. "A respectable citizen would pay for that, yes?"

He scrambles to his feet, still dizzy. "Neither of us is a respectable citizen. Move, dumbass!"

* * *

They exit the building casually and only relax when they have walked a bit of a distance from the hotel, immediately hailing the first taxi they see. They kick each other over who gets to go inside first for no reason. The driver, who is wearing sunglasses and looks like a good-for-nothing, waits patiently as they both settle at the backseat, then asks where they are going.

Sougo and China look at each other. "Just drive," he eventually says. Instant truce: she sits close to him, her umbrella beside her, and he keeps his arm stretched behind her.

The city unrolls past the windows. This way the buildings are like concrete waves against the backdrop of the looming mountains, and the people and other vehicles are also a part of their own seas. From the corner of his eye he watches, for the second time that day, as China fixes her hair and covers the bun with an ornament.

"…why did we go there, sadist?"

He can't watch the people's shoes from a window like this. "Just checked something."

"And?"

"They're rebuilding," he says. "And the garden looks untouched."

Her hand, feather-light on his thigh. "Even though you are normally useless, most of the people involved are safe because of you, yes?"

"China." He sighs, turning away from the window to bury his nose in her hair. "Unlike you, I'm normally pretty damn awesome.  _That_  was the one and only time I felt useless."

Her hand, slow as grief as it reaches up to touch his head. "Stupid sadist," she says, and her voice shakes a little. "So stupid."

Sougo straightens because strange things are happening inside him and he doesn't want to know why. He's almost grateful when his phone vibrates so loudly and so suddenly they both jump. She draws her hand away and he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

_I feel like you're doing inappropriate things to our Kagura-chan right now, Soma-kun. When I get back, I'm going to take your lungs out of your chest and turn them into balloons for your funeral._

Sougo rolls his eyes and replies:  _Boss, it's Sougo._ As it sends, he remembers that it will probably take a while for the boss to return. Knowing him, it is entirely possible that he intends to continue with the death threats while he is far from his surrogate daughter.

He sighs. "Oi, China. Tell the boss he can stop already, dammit. I haven't even done anything to you yet!"

Beat.

The sound of the car's engine fills the silence.

Beat.

She cranes her neck slowly until she is looking him full in the face. Her expression is completely blank. " _Yet_?"

Oh.

_Oh._

For lack of anything to do, he pockets his phone. He blinks at her. Not a single excuse or any form of rationalization comes to mind. She just keeps staring at him. Outside, a car horn screeches with unfathomable desperation.

For lack of anything to do, he kisses her. Her gasp her tongue and the way both fit in his mouth. She turns to him. Her hand his jaw. Her hand right above the drum that is his heart. The leather seat squeaking as they shift in place they become tectonic plates crashing into each other. His palm the side of her neck his fingers at her nape, on her throat, he can almost feel the lack of breath in her. His tongue everywhere. His hands, wanting everywhere. Her lip soft when he bites it, her fingers forming a small fist when he does and the way she moans he barely hears it he is so lost.

The car suddenly braking sends them tumbling off their seats, still tangled in each other.

"Oi! This isn't a love hotel, dammit! Get the fuck out!"

They have no idea where they are when the taxi drops them off. They watch as it speeds down the street, then share a glance. They look away almost immediately.

The trees waving, the roads bursting with noise and smoke, doorways witnessing arrivals and departures like small airports. The world moving like it has always done, moment after moment happening and unhappening. Nothing (everything) has changed.

"Well," Sougo finally says, " _now_  I've done something to you."

Her umbrella smacks him in the face. "So  _that_ was the only reason you did it!"

"What?" He rubs his face and glares at her. "No, piss-brain! I've wanted to do that for fucking weeks, I was just looking for an excuse to do it!"

She probably expected tsundere-ness, not honesty, because every inch of her face turns red, from her forehead to the tips of her ears to her chin. And like the idiot she is, she folds her arms and futilely attempts an air of cool indifference. "Hmph. It was gross anyway! You cannot do anything right, yes?"

"…shall I try again?"

"Obviously!"

And he does, until some killjoy yells at them to fuck off and get a room.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So that's around half of the story done. I hope that was better than last chapter lol. Do let me know what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

It's lunchtime by the time they find their way home. (No more taxis. According to China, taxis are the root of corruption and temptation.)

There is a mayonnaise addict standing in front of their door. In front of him are plastic bags filled with boxes of takeout that smell distinctly of fried rice and pork, and a bottle of mayonnaise that looks like it was specially manufactured in that particular size (more or less two feet tall) for freaks.

Hijikata-san looks up as they approach, narrowing his eyes. "Where did you two come from?"

"We went to a shady ho—"

Sougo slaps his hand over China's mouth. "I'm surprised you didn't let yourself in and plant traps in the apartment to get rid of me once and for all." He keeps her mouth covered and drags her down the hallway.

"I'm not  _you_ , you sick little shit. And was she just about to say hotel? She was about to say 'shady hotel', wasn't she?"

China girl makes noises that vaguely sound affirmative.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Sougo says, stopping at Hijikata-san's side and fumbling for his key while China tries to pry his hand off her.

"What's with that suspicious answer? You trying to hide something? You didn't do anything M-rated, did you?"

Sougo finds his key, unlocks the door, then opens it. "Nah, just T at most." He steps inside and lets China go, gesturing toward the plastic bags. "Bring them in, servants. Except for the mayonnaise. You can throw that in the trash."

China sets her loving gaze on the mountain of food, and drool streaks down her chin.

Hijikata-san's eye twitches. "What was that? I feel like I just heard you say something suspicious before you mentioned the mayonnaise."

"On second thought, don't touch anything yet, China. And you." Sougo points at Hijikata-san. "Go die."

"Don't ignore me, dammit!"

"I didn't ignore you. I just told you to go die, didn't I?"

"Oi, don't say that like it's good thing!"

Sougo steps inside with China hopping right behind him, leaving Hijikata-san with no choice but to bring the food and his mayonnaise in. Sougo turns the lights on. He watches the empty room flood with light and for a second he can't hear or see anything. But then the mayo addict grumbles loudly as he walks past him, heading straight to the kitchen. China hounds him, yelling at him to move faster. She catches Sougo looking at her as she passes by, raises her middle finger at him, and he is home again.

* * *

Once China has settled herself in front of food, there is no talking to her. She takes up half of the dining table, her food forming an impenetrable wall before her, and gobbles box after box of pork-topped fried rice. Hijikata-san pours a shit-ton of mayonnaise into his food every five bites or so. Sougo watches them with disgust and eats slowly, unused to being the normal one in  _any_ room.

At one point Hijikata-san pauses to give Sougo a look he has memorized by now.

"If you're going to ask when I last went out, I'm throwing  _you_ and your mayonnaise in the trash."

Hijikata-san scowls. "I was going to skip that, jackass." He drums his fingers on the table, watching China take the wall of food down bit by bit, then turns to him. "When was your most recent panic attack?"

Sougo has the answer on the tip of his tongue. "26 days ago," he says. Mildly surprised, he frowns down at his food. "Huh." He toys with the bits of pork on the rice, flicking them around with his chopsticks. "It's been  _26 days_."

Hijikata-san's sharp gaze tracks his movements. "So why did you have a panic attack?"

Sougo buries the chopsticks in the rice and stares at them. If he looks across the table, he can barely just see the top of China's head behind the wall of takeout boxes. If he looks up, he will have to look at Hijikata-san's panda eyes and the mask of indifference he has mastered through years of repression.

So without looking at anyone, Sougo asks: "How often do you visit her grave?"

Silence but for the sound of China girl chewing.

The mayo freak spins the chopsticks around his thumb, catches them between his fingers. He does it again, this time letting them clatter to the table, and watches them roll until they stop.

He clears his throat. "Every week. After I check on you, I visit her."

Sougo wants to see him crack for once. For just once, just to be fair, because Hijikata-san has witnessed almost all of his breakdowns. But his voice sounds normal, sounds unaffected and fine and casual. His expression hasn't changed. So well-practiced even Sougo can't be sure if there really is anything underneath and he hates him (just a little) for it.

He plucks his chopsticks off the rice and continues eating. China girl opens another box and digs in with relish. Hijikata-san, unmoved and ever unmoving.

What Sougo wants to ask:

What did you say at her funeral?

What did you say at the  _others'_ funeral?

What does her grave look like?

Where are the others buried? Beside each other? Beside dead strangers?

Did you keep some of her ashes?

Did you keep the ring?

Instead:

"What do you even do there?"

Hijikata-san shrugs. "Pay my respects. Tell her how you're doing." A short pause that must have lasted ages for him. "Tell her how I'm doing."

There is no way in hell he is going to ask how the mayo addict is doing. So he eats. After a while, Hijikata-san picks his chopsticks up and does the same. Sougo glances to his right where a ghost sits, smiling at him, but when he blinks she is gone.

He looks across from him and discovers that China is down to her last five boxes. Her stomach bulges under her clothes and there are bits of rice and meat on her cheek, her chin. If they were alone he would stand up, cross the room, wipe the mess off with his thumb, then return to his seat.

(Moments like these feel like thievery, like these things are reserved for those who actually deserve them.)

(And he does not.)

When she eats, her mouth opens wide in an unsightly manner and she makes disgusting noises.

He can't believe he kissed this pig.

(He can't believe he still wants to)

When he is done eating he watches her until she, too, is finished. She meets his gaze, cheeks slightly pink, and hurls one of the boxes at him. He ducks and throws his box at her, Hijikata-san yells at them to stop right this instant, Sougo's chopsticks hit him in the face, and the kitchen becomes a battlefield.

* * *

Hijikata-san stands at the archway, clutching his bottle of mayonnaise, which is now nearly empty thanks to Sougo squeezing its contents out into the sink until the freak surrendered. China sits on the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter, surrounded by crushed boxes that did zero damage to her. Sougo stands behind his shield (the table laid on its side), observing his adversaries.

"Are you satisfied, you brats?" Hijikata-san demands, holding the bottle closer to his chest. "You done being absolute pieces of shit?"

China gives him an inaccurate salute. "You did well, Mayora 13. Your mayonnaise will be remembered for how slowly it went down the drain, yes? We all fought with honor."

" _I_ fought with honor. You idiots just teamed up out of nowhere and ganged up on me! It was the two of you who hit each other in the first place, dammit!"

Sougo heaves the table back on its feet. "It was inevitable, Hijikata-san. Even rivals must unite to defeat the evils of this world."

Hijikata-san sighs and joins him in cleaning up. "I don't want to hear that from the primary source of evils in this world."

China crawls around to pick their ammunition up from the floor and tosses them into the plastic bags. When they are done, they all walk out of the kitchen, into the living room, and stop at the front door. Hijikata-san opens it, tucking his bottle of mayonnaise under his arm. "I have to go. Still need to buy flowers and incense for later."

From the corner of his eye Sougo sees China turn to him.

Hijikata-san's gaze is steady. "Wanna come with me?"

Sougo breathes through the tightness in his chest.

Not yet.

_Not yet._

He approaches Hijikata-san and shoves him past the threshold. "I don't wanna be seen with you, Hijibaka. People will think I'm boring, too."

 _That_  look, like he understands but doesn't feel the need to say so.  _That_  infernal look. "If you want." Hijikata-san straightens his tie and peers at China. "Oi. You sure he hasn't done anything weird to you? The permhead doesn't believe whatever it is you tell him to reassure him."

Sougo stares straight ahead. He listens to her footsteps as she walks toward them and stops at his side. "He has not done anything unusual at all, yes?"

The freak narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything else. He waves, turns away and starts walking at a leisurely pace. Sougo and China watch him walk down the hallway in silence. From when Sougo first met him to now, no matter what the world throws at him, Hijikata-san's spine has remained upright and undefeated, his back unbent, his shoulders ramrod straight as if there is no weight heavy enough to make him bow.

#


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is that chapter, the reason the rating is now Mature. Y'all know what that means. Consider yourselves warned. But keep your expectations low, I'm still not used to writing explicit-ish scenes. Enjoy.

The freelancers' business has never been stable. 'Will do anything for money' isn't as enticing a slogan as they think it is. On the contrary, it makes them shady as hell, and most people turn to more specialized freelancers for their particular needs if they can't go to the police. Which is to say that most days the freelancers just slack off, either on their own or together, squandering their (and others') resources.

Today is one of such days, and the resources being squandered are Sougo's.

He stands at the doorway of China's bedroom and glares at her. She is sprawled in front of the mirror, painting her nails. Small colored bottles and cotton balls litter the floor beside a tub of ice cream  _he_ bought for  _his_ future consumption, now only half-full  _and_ melting. He is sure she would have eaten it in seconds if she isn't so busy concentrating on her nails, her face wearing the kind of serious expression reserved for overthrowing the government.

 _Plus,_ she's wearing an oversized flannel—hold the fuck up, is that his shirt?—and a pair of shorts that are most likely for comfort than anything else, but they also show her legs off quite nicely.

Sougo feels the muscles in his face twitch. There are so many things wrong with this entire scenario, but he starts with the most atrocious offense of all. "China, that's  _my_  fucking ice cream."

She looks up and nods gravely. "Sadist. It is good you arrived, yes? I have a problem."

He folds his arms. "No, you shithead.  _I_ have  _problems._ We're broke, you ate my ice cream without my permission, you're letting it melt, you're making a  _mess,_ you're wearing  _my_ shirt, and you have legs! "

She blinks at him. "You have legs, too, yes?" she points out, then dismisses the rest of his concerns with an arrogant little "hmph!" and a condescending shake of her head. "Like I said, I have a more important problem, yes?" Her earnest gaze drills into him. "I need your help, sadist."

Sougo lets out a couple ragged breaths and tries for patience. He is the older one here. He has to be more understanding. Somehow. After all, China has her own worries and feelings, as annoying as they are. Yes, he needs to be the more mature one in this relationship.

Not that there's  _any_ kind of relationship here. They haven't talked about the kiss(es) yet, and neither of them see the point in doing so.

He rubs his temples. China's pride, whose size rivals her appetite, rarely allows her to ask for help. "What the fuck do you want?" he demands.

She blows on her nails and gestures to her side. "Come here first."

Suspicious but curious, Sougo steps inside, glancing around as if he will catch a glimpse of his sister's ghost, and he wonders what she will think of what has been done to her bedroom.

He moves faster and wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, swallowing all the knots down his throat. He sits beside China, who watches him for a bit before saying, "First, you must pick up that spoon and scoop some ice cream."

Sougo gives her a skeptical look. "How's that going to help you?"

"You cannot possibly comprehend my reasons, sadist. Just do it."

He decides to humor her and does as she says.

"Move it here. No, not there.  _There_."

Without looking away from her nails, without so much as pausing her task, China takes the scooped ice cream into her mouth and straightens, leaving Sougo with an empty spoon and an indignation so fierce it transcends all feeling and makes him completely numb.

China smacks her lips and angles her head, tilting her hand this way and that way. "Now, you just keep doing that until my hands are free, yes?"

Sougo grabs her by the back of her head and shoves her face into the tub of ice cream. "You just want me to fucking spoon-feed you, you pile of dogshit!"

She grabs his wrist and yanks his hand off her, then resurfaces. Chocolate goop coats her face. "Obviously, you big idiot! I cannot eat while I am painting my nails, yes?"

He drops the spoon, takes the open nail polish bottle, and pours its contents on the nails she has been working so hard on.

She wails in despair, holding her hand up as if it were a priceless piece of art he has ruined. She whirls around to glare at him and he smirks.

Her elbow smashes into his gut. It's like a giant stepping on him. The world goes white and he feels a brief flying sensation, then he slams against the wall.

Sougo groans, cradling the back of his head. He waves his right hand around and grasps what is probably the bed's headboard, then uses it to push himself to his feet. He blinks rapidly and makes out the blurry shape of China girl lunging for him, fist reared back. Without thinking, he steps into the attack and catches her around the waist.

They both stop because they realize they are both close enough to kiss. The pink of her mouth makes him think of the texture of her tongue. Something she sees on his face makes her lips part, makes her lick them. A breathy little sound escapes one of them and he isn't sure who it is. He just keeps looking at her and she just keeps looking at him.

Several endless moments wherein her fist loosens, her eyes go dark, and the entire galaxy is where her crotch rubs against his.

Then her legs wind around his hips, his hands find her butt, hers grab him by the collar and they are kissing, ice cream-covered face and all, and he does his best to lick all of it off her, the stickiness of it in his mouth, the salt of her sweat, and when his tongue goes back down her throat she must taste the sweetness, and he believes she does, because she seeks it again and again, her aggression making his fingers dig into her ass, makes him more aware of her breasts pressing against him

and when they come up for air he swings her around and dumps her on the bed, she stretches her arms out, wanting, the shape of her mouth when she pants she needs so he crawls on top of her, teeth clamping on the flesh above her pulse as it skips and speeds up and he eats its every stutter, the more she loves what he does the tighter her grip on his hair becomes and it hurts just enough to feel good so his hands go under her clothes—his shirt—he has no time for fucking buttons so he finds her nipples with his teeth, sucks them through the fabric the  _sound_ she makes is his, his fingers slide under her, across her back, her spine (that infernal unyielding spine, the cause of his never-ending problems) but the flesh, the surface is so soft—he rests his forehead on her collar bone, every breath hard-won, he returns his hands to her front, claws his way up to her breasts—no bra— _god fuck_   _damn—_

he fondles her with one hand and tugs her shorts down with the other, he is not gentle when he toys with and twists her nipples and her moans have gained a desperate edge, if she says  _please_ he will lose it, his nails skim her stomach and just barely touches her and because she is her she takes hold of his wrist and shoves his hand between her legs

wet sopping wet when he palms her sex, she groans, his thumb draws one feather-light line from her clit down her folds and back up and down again, he takes his other hand off her and props himself up on the bed so he can watch her face, he watches the need the ache dominate her expression, eyes barely open and mouth a perpetual gasp, and for the rest of his life he will remember the way she grabs the sheets

as his finger enters her slowly as her hips jerk, as he pumps in and out in and out, how soon enough one finger isn't enough for her, two isn't enough, three is when she is impaling herself on his fingers and he rests his elbow between her breasts—this will bruise—he grabs her by the chin and makes her look at him as she comes again and again and again

but after all that instead of flopping on the bed in exhaustion she shimmies off her shorts completely and kicks it away, when she spreads her legs he can see the pink of her glistening, strings of wetness clinging from his hand to between her thighs—god his pants are too tight—and when he meets her gaze and licks her off his fingers he feels aflame and she whimpers

but what is on his hand is not enough so he buries his tongue in her sex and eats—there is no finer meal and he shows it—he can't hold her hips down because what China girl wants she must get, and what she wants is to come again so he devours, he is sure he has made her liquid and he drinks her up, not a single drop must be wasted and

when she  _does_ come again, she screams his name  _dear god_ everything

in the universe is alive again

so he straightens on his knees, catching his breath, fully awake, and he stares at her, realizing that

no matter how much he wants to fuck her he cannot because (a) he has no condoms, it's been a while since he has needed some (b) goddammit  _it's been a while_  and  _this is fucking China_ and he is not confident he will have enough self-control to pull out

shit

_shit shit shit_

what did he just do

when they manage to speak they are so out of breath, their voices so soft their dialogue must be written in italics

_china we can't_

_what do you mean we can't?_

he tells her, very reasonably, why they can't and

_but i have other holes, yes?_

_china_

_i have a mouth, yes?_

indeed she has a mouth, what a fucking marvel

so she gets up and crawls to him and the sight almost makes him come he is that pathetic, and when she, on all fours, pulls his pants and boxers down he springs up, hard and red and throbbing, streaked with pre-come, her eyes widen as she touches it with one slender finger, then slowly wraps her hand around it, she strokes him a few times until he is ready to burst

and her small mouth encircles the head, sucking softly, he has grabbed her hair without noticing

it takes everything he has not to bury his cock balls-deep in her throat

she asks what he likes and just a little teeth is what he likes, just barely graze him, just enough for him to feel the edges, and she leans back to sit on her heels and crack her knuckles like this is a challenge and maybe for her it is

but for him it's his balls turning bluer with every second of delay

she leans forward again on all fours and takes him in her mouth and there's the teeth  _god_ he can't stop the groan from escaping him and that edge her spit the sight of her hand rubbing herself furiously, her half-lidded eyes looking up at him, the sound of her moaning around him

he has nothing and

with a roughness he usually reserves for someone more experienced, he tightens his grip on her head and pounds into her mouth, he hears her gagging and he tries to slow down but a small hand grabs his ass and he finds himself fucking her even harder, her moans are growing more urgent, the pressure between his legs tight, grasping, desperate, the bed creaks and squeaks, matching their haste, and he is louder than he has ever been, he is saying words he does not fully understand (maybe one of them is her name) and

a guttural sound rips from his throat as he  _does_ bury himself balls-deep in her throat and spills himself into her mouth, rears back and slams into her again a few more times, then he pulls out, leaving white streaks on her chin, white lines dripping on the sheets, and her throat moves as she swallows, she makes a face but she sits back, licks her lips, wipes his come with her unpainted fingers and sucks on them.

She frowns and mulls things over. Then:

"It tastes gross, yes?"

Sougo sits, too, then grabs her by the chin and kisses her because his brain isn't functional enough yet for a witty comeback.

He pulls away and mulls things over.

"So do you, China," he tells her, lying down on the bed, and she lies down beside him.

The quiet takes a long time to arrive and takes a long time to depart.

Eventually she speaks: "We are going to buy condoms tomorrow, yes?"

Sougo is a terrible,  _terrible_  person. "Damn right we are."

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sneak in any additional details about Sougo's condition, sorry about that haha. Just seemed more awkward to force them in there somewhere. Next chapter will have more details, though.


	11. Chapter 11

They often fuck with their phones in another room or simply in do-not-disturb mode. The boss' dad senses have a way of knowing exactly when something completely inappropriate is happening. His death threats are growing more intense and graphic, and his memory of Sougo's name is getting more and more inaccurate.

Sometimes Sougo is too— _busy—_ to reply to all of his texts immediately, and the boss' ( _not_ baseless) paranoia rises to (not so) ridiculous heights. To add fuel to the fire, this coincides with China being unable to answer the boss' calls.

The problem lies in how easily they turn each other on. How easily they find it to maintain a state of turned-on-ness.

Things that turn them on:

Pointless fights. The sound of the shower running. Loneliness. The emptiness of the dining table, it was made for eating so they eat. Silence. The way the couch sinks under their weight of them. Porn. The murmur of the television. Sadness. Knowing she is here, he is here, and the condoms are here.

Sougo does her like he understands nothing and everything about her. She is all the strangers he has slept with and none of them. When her face is buried in his pillows, ass in the air and hands bound, she is all body and hair and begging  _harder_ , which she will be embarrassed about afterward but will probably do again next time.

This is how they fuck:

With hunger, first and foremost of all, and his China girl has a grand appetite. She wants him pressing her against the bed the floor the couch the table the kitchen counter the bathroom wall. She wants herself paper-thin and moon-hollow and his cock will stretch her and fill her while she grabs him and he grabs back. When she is sated, she is real once again. And he, always the one to indulge himself, takes her as he wants as she wants, no matter where they are.

With violence, of course. It is his way, after all. Gentleness is for quiet moments. But this—her writhing and wriggling under his tongue, her body an arch, her hair forming rivers on the sheets—well, he has to seize all that red in his fist, slam his hips against hers hard fast just like she prefers it, bite where she is softest, leave traces of him on her, rake his nails down where she bleeds easiest, lap it all up, eat all of her up because he, too, wants her inside him in some way.

All the landmarks of his apartment, witnesses to every lecherous thing the boss has accused them of doing.

This is how they change the terrain of familiar rooms.

One day Sougo walks past the street-level windows and realizes he hasn't really looked through them for days now. It's like all that fucking has changed the topography of the apartment so drastically he has forgotten what it's like to be alone.

The thought makes him stop and stare at the windows.

He remembers what started the habit. After the terrorist attack that halved three buildings, nearly levelled off a university garden, killed three of the Tokushu Butai's best snipers, and resulted in several injuries and one civilian casualty, Sougo's mind began to replay every critical moment of the operation over and over, moments that could have gone some other way. The images were particularly strong when he closed his eyes or stared blankly into space. Looking out the street-level windows kept his mind disengaged, but still able to take in the details of what he was watching.

Now he blinks at those windows and wonders when he gave up on pretending that nothing beyond the people's shoes and the people's trash rolling on the sidewalk was real. He tries to pinpoint the moment when he stopped convincing himself that his nightmares, his guilt, his self-loathing, his terror meant something else, that the death of Okita Mitsuba was not real.

When he exhales it fills the entire apartment. It doesn't sound like the exhale of a normal human being. More like the first note an engine sings as it starts.

Sougo turns his back on the windows and plods toward China's bedroom. He stops at her doorway and sees her sprawled on the bed, playing a game on her phone while nibbling on a strip of sukonbu. Several boxes of the snack lie beside her.

He watches her for a moment. "China girl."

She frowns and lowers her phone, giving him an intent look. "What happened to you, stupid sadist?"

How easily she reads him. "I'm going out for a bit."

She swallows her sukonbu, sits up and says, "This early?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

She flops back down on the bed. "Hmph."

He lingers. Then he enters the room, approaches the bed, yanks her toward him by the ankle (she yelps and drops her phone on her face), flicks her phone away, and kisses her.

When he pulls back, he notes how flushed her cheeks are and pinches them. "I'll just be at the steps."

"Like I care, moron! Just go away! You are disturbing me, yes?"

He kisses her again before he leaves.

* * *

The air is cool and the front steps even colder under his ass. At this hour, people are going to work, going to school, going home in the same clothes they wore yesterday. From where he sits he sees countless legs moving, hands and purses and briefcases swinging, obscuring the rest of the city.

Perhaps a month or two ago all these people still read or watched the news about the incident. They gossiped and murmured about how horrible it all must have been. But in the end it would always be just another tragic story to them.

Sougo doesn't have a problem with this. He knows he is separate from the city he has sworn to protect. He is at the age where he should've been one of these people, going to university, but he is too good at killing to be comfortable in an environment other than the one he has known his entire life. And he wanted this. He wanted to be useful. He still does, no matter what may have happened. This work is his gravity. This work gives him purpose. His personal hell being just another report is part of the price.

A pair of legs stop in front of him. Crisp black suit, black shoes with nary a single speck of dust. The smell of smoke and mayonnaise.

Sougo looks up at him and squints. "So this explains the evil aura I sensed a while ago."

"What are you doing out here?" Hijikata-san asks.

Sougo leans back on his palms. "Haa? This is our building. What are  _you_ doing here?"

Hijikata-san shoves his hands into his pockets. "You know why I'm here, Sougo."

He does. Hijikata-san is a creature of habit. He believes in the power of repetition. Routine. Practice. If you do something often enough, you will eventually be perfect at it. Small, typical errors born from people's inherently flawed judgment are forgivable to him only when others commit them, but completely intolerable if he himself makes them. Which is why Hijikata-san does things over and over, determined to get them right.

Except there are no do-overs in things already done. There is nothing to practice. Nothing to repeat.

Sougo watches him. "How long did it take you to be able to talk about it, Hijikata-san?"

Nothing in his eyes. Nothing on his face. "I wrote the report on it, didn't I?"

Sougo wonders how you write in an official report that your fiancée died in an operation you were in charge of.

"Right." Sougo nods to no one. "Right." Hijikata-san just stands there. "Get out of the way, Hijibaka, you're blocking the view."

Hijikata-san glances over his shoulder. "What view?"

Sougo nudges him aside with his foot. He keeps his voice as light as he can. "That day. When we went outside. There was a sea of people like this one." Just beyond the barricades. Hands cameras mouths agape yelling _sir could you tell us what's happening here sir is it true there's a civilian in there_ police officers trying to keep the peace  _it's not safe ma'am sir stay away_. "Only they weren't moving."

"I know," Hijikata-san says, and Sougo knows he knows. "That was the first panic attack."

It wasn't the crowd that did it. It was just that among all those people, none of them was his sister. He looked and looked and she was nowhere because she will never be anywhere again. And for Okita Sougo, life without Mitsuba in it was evil and terrifying and no weapon would save him from it.

Sometimes he still feels like her dying is the end of the fucking world. That surely the universe has to restart, has to do everything all over again until Mitsuba is alive again and everything is as it should be.

Hijikata-san inches forward. "When was your most recent panic attack?"

Sougo feels the words coming from his stomach, feels them rake burning lines up his chest, his throat, his mouth. The city sounds muffled from where he's sitting, and he finds himself gripping his hair so hard he feels like his scalp will tear.

"35 days ago."

"Why did you have a panic attack?"

His heart seizes itself. Folds itself smaller in his chest, it's so small it hurts. "Because I tried to shoot a sniper rifle." His lungs shrink and he can't take any air in, it won't fit, so there is nothing to exhale either. He stares at his feet, his slippers. The concrete underneath. "And it reminded me that I shot my sister and killed her."

"Alright," Hijikata-san says, his voice impossibly soft. "Alright, then."

Sougo keeps his head down, trying to breathe quietly, but he keeps wheezing. There's a big hand on his head and a practiced litany of  _easy now, breathe, breathe, sougo, i'm sorry, it had to be said, breathe i'm proud of you breathe, breathe_ in his ear.

He can still hear everything moving around them, the world not pausing for anyone or anything, not for him or Hijikata-san, not for his sister, not even for dramatic exposition. Maybe some of the people passing by will glance, but this is rush hour. In the end they are all bound by their own reasons, their own gravities pulling them to their destinations.

"Let's go inside, alright?" Hijikata-san says, helping him up. "Let's get you back to your wife."

Sougo regains enough breath to sound indignant even while whispering: "Who are you calling my wife, dammit?"

"Life is too short to waste it on being a tsundere, Sougo." The door opening, everything resuming. Their footsteps on the carpet. "Can you imagine an alternate universe where I reject your sister, pretend I don't give a shit about her, and she dies without me ever telling her I love her?"

"Even you couldn't be  _that_ dumb, Hijikata-san."

"Exactly."

The lights on the ceiling of the foyer are turned off. The early morning sun bleeds through the windows and between the blue curtains. The corridor past the foyer has walls painted white with teal borders, interrupted by closed door after closed door after closed door. There could be no one behind those doors. There could be anyone.

Somewhere along the way, Sougo straightens and manages to walk on his own.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been a fan of understating dramatic scenes, so that it doesn't feel like anything dramatic is actually happening, but at the same time I also need to get the rawness of the emotions across, you know? Not sure if I succeeded lol it's such a pain.


	12. Chapter 12

HOW OKITA SOUGO WOULD HAVE WRITTEN THE POST-INCIDENT REPORT

(Would probably be submitted late. Like a few weeks after the incident.)

On May 28, 20xx, the Tokushu Butai – Hokkaido Unit received an anonymous tip that a team of suicide bombers will attack the Hokkaido Government Office on June 4, 20xx. The tip being suspicious as fuck, the unit attempted to track its source but was unsuccessful.

We heightened security within the prefecture from the moment the tip was communicated to us. It was entirely possible that the bombers would attack somewhere else or at an earlier date or both.

Inspector Hijibaka took charge of the operation in place of Chief Inspector Gorilla, who had been summoned to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police HQ regarding 'various suspicious activities' going on under his command. Because Hijibaka is a kiss-ass. You guys should fire him. Whoever the hell you are reading these dumb things.

Inspector Mayora had a bunch of plans in case the tip proved to be a mere distraction and the attack was at a different date. But those don't matter now. So I'll only tell you about his plan for the fourth of June.

First and foremost of all, close all public establishments near the government office, including the Hokkaido University Botanical Garden, and empty the government office, all nearby structures, and the buildings the snipers would be in. Have work and school suspended as necessary. Close off the streets within the threatened area. For precision strikes and reconaissance, officers from the sniping section will be placed on designated points less than 1000 meters from probable points of assault, except for me. They let me outside the usual sniping range to be harder to spot, and also because I can manage more difficult shots. Our locations were confidential, only known to us snipers and to Inspector Hijibaka.

Inspector Mayora had a bunch of different plans again in case the target wasn't the Hokkaido Government Office. But it was and it wasn't, so I'll skip those other plans. They mean nothing now.

The assault and bomb defusement teams, led by the mayo addict, were to apprehend the suspects as soon as sighted in the government office and defuse their bombs. They were to be dealt with before they could cause any damage. If there were any remaining, they could attempt to hide within the building and detonate the bomb, but that would be a lost cause and would most likely not kill a lot of people. The building itself, after all, was never the target.

The more likely course of action they could take would be to run and/or look for hostages. There would be blockades set up so that the suspect/s would have no choice but to head to the empty university garden, where we snipers could see them clearly.

So everything was going as planned.

Until the snipers closest to the botanical garden, including me, saw someone running across an open glade, dragging a familiar, familiar figure, probably planning to hide among the greenery as he makes his escape.

Three words, the sole indication that shit had officially hit the fan:

"They have Mitsuba."

In that moment no one cared how she got there. As soon as I saw them I was aiming for the terrorist. I could have taken him. A moving target? No fucking problem. I had it.  _I fucking had it_. That was what I thought until the suspect stopped and glanced directly at me. Then he was right behind her so I couldn't see him, only her.

The glance only lasted a second. But it clearly meant one thing: he knew where the snipers were.

And right when I thought that, three buildings exploded almost at the same time. Like fucking theater. Three buildings shaved off, three Tokushu Butai snipers dead.

Every second passing meant I was a second closer to exploding just like them. I didn't have time to wonder why I didn't die along with them. I just knew I had a time limit.

By then Hijibaka and his team had arrived at the garden, were surrounding the terrorist. I heard them talking through our communication devices.

So here was the situation.

The terrorist had two sets of bombs of equal power on his person. One was a time-bomb and there was a little more than 10 seconds left. The other one he could detonate at will. He described the scope. The damage they would cause. Together they could raze the entire garden and the surrounding structures to the ground. They could topple buildings, set off other bombs, affect areas outside the predicted blast zone.

The terrorist had his thumb on the button that could kill or injure scores of people. Mitsuba shielded every inch of him. There was no way to shoot around her. Hijibaka and the assault and bomb-defusing teams had their weapons on the ground. They couldn't so much as twitch for fear of the terrorist pressing the button. The only way to get everyone out of this alive was to wait for the other snipers to get there and shoot from another angle, or for me to move from my position.

But 10 seconds would not allow us that.

Inspector Hijikata Toushirou and I reached the same conclusion. And for the first time since time immemorial, Hijikata-san displayed an act so unprofessional the rest of us will take the memory to our graves.

Through the static of our communication devices we heard him say, "Mitsuba." Then he said it again, sounding lost, like the world made no sense and her name was the only thing he understood.

I saw her face through the scope. I saw her smile. It was an impossible smile.

I hit my targets. All the time, without even trying. Even when they are covered. That's just how good I am. It could have taken me less than two seconds to shoot. But I waited until there was no more time, until waiting any longer would kill Mitsuba and Hijikata-san and his team and dozens of civilians.

It was simple math. Multiple lives weigh more than one.

It was one of the best shots of my career. The bullet went through her and hit him between the eyes. Not a lot of people could have done it from that distance.

The moment my job was done, I cracked. I didn't know what to do. The building I was in wasn't exploding and I wanted it to.

But I could hear Hijibaka, who had just witnessed his fiancée die, snap out orders. And once the other bombs had been found and defused, he tried to talk to me but I couldn't get a single word, a single breath out. He told me he was on his way but I didn't know what that meant. I couldn't even move on my own; he had to go there and haul my ass off that building.

Later we found out that there were a total of nine main perpetrators: the one I shot, who was apparently the leader of that particular terrorist cell, seven bombers (three in the government office, plus one for each building the snipers nearest the garden were in, including me), and one mole—a Tokushu Butai sniper.

It turned out that 'various suspicious activities' weren't going on under Kondo-san's command. They were all for someone else, all in preparation for something entirely different.

The motive was old—older than me. Families from long ago, crushed beneath the shiny shoes of some politician. Whatever it was that happened to them, it united them. It made someone betray a city he swore an oath to protect.

The mole and the bomber assigned to me ended up killing each other, which fucked up their entire plan. Turns out the tip came from that sniper, too. Maybe he felt guilty.

I don't fucking care.

Private information about the Tokushu Butai are known only to us and our families and friends.

But that fucking mole knew us. We knew him. He was fucking invited to Hijibaka and my sister's wedding. That was how he knew Mitsuba would be good leverage. (But did he really think I would not shoot?) He knew where we lived. My sister regularly invited him for tea and traded gossips with him. He sat at our table and ate our food. His liking for spices almost rivaled hers.

He had a backstory. Probably tragic. He had reasons for doing what he did.

But I don't give a shit. He spent years infiltrating our unit. It was probably the hardest thing he'd ever done in his entire life. But that just meant he was an excellent liar. He escaped notice his entire career, and only indirectly gave himself away right before the attack. He'd probably planned to leave the Tokushu Butai had they succeeded, then they'd enact the rest of their plans. Whatever form of vengeance they think looks closest to justice.

He fucking lied to our faces. He betrayed me and my sister and Hijikata-san. He betrayed Kondo-san.

Someone more professional than me would write all the relevant details about him. But I won't even mention his name, will not have it mentioned within hearing distance. I want him deleted from history. I want him forgotten. I want his existence to mean nothing.

My sister was getting married this December and moving in with Hijikata-san. He took that away from her. He took that away from them.

They had told people they were getting married. Hijikata-san had to untell them on his own.

All while he was taking care of me. I was catatonic for weeks. I convinced myself that everything was my fault and I believed it. In some ways I still do. I probably would have starved to death, killed myself, died from sleep deprivation, or all of the above if it weren't for the mayonnaise moron, who lied his ass off to Kondo-san. He keeps lying because he is afraid of what I would do to myself if I found out Kondo-san knows just how pathetic, how useless I am. The Tokushu Butai's pride, my fucking ass.

Hijikata-san developed bad habits. Or enhanced existing ones. It was only when he got hospitalized (he never told me exactly what for, fucking asshole) that I tried to get my shit together enough to keep existing.

But even now when I can survive on my own, I can't bring myself to do more beyond that. I can't see myself trying to protect anyone ever again, and if I don't have faith in my ability to protect, what do I have?

In Hijibaka's report, he probably concluded that the operation was a success. All those people who could have died, all walking and talking and breathing and loving and hating, who may be single or married or happy or unhappy or engaged or pregnant, who have plans for the future or maybe just plans for winging it, who may or may not read the newspapers, watch the television, who may be simple, strange, smart, stupid, talented, mediocre, glad to be alive, who may never see or touch or feel a bullet in their entire lives, who may never grasp how expensive the price is for every breath they take

versus one civilian casualty: my sister, who loved and was loved by everyone she met, who was engaged, who had many plans for the future, who read the newspapers every morning like an old geezer (particularly the food, lifestyle and entertainment sections, plus the comics and puzzles), who watched the television every time either or both Hijikata-san and I were at work just in case something happened, who was strange in her own way ( _nobody_ loved tabasco sauce that much), who was smart and exceptional and brave, who was very much glad to be alive, who had seen bullets but only the unfired ones, who knew how expensive, how valuable life was, and who was always proud to say that the people closest to her worked tirelessly to protect it.

Conclusion: The operation was a success and I am a complete and utter failure.

#


	13. Chapter 13

It took Okita Sougo six weeks to admit that he had been lying to himself—that 'fine' is not the same as refusing to acknowledge his own grief; eight weeks to say out loud that his sister is dead; and more than nine weeks to acknowledge that despite all the factors involved, despite the traitor and the bombs and the threat hanging over civilian lives, his will always be the hand that killed Okita Mitsuba, and he is not even the least bit close to forgiving himself.

Of those nine weeks, the first two were blurs and Sougo still can't recall if he really breathed and slept and ate during those days. During the two weeks after that, he spoke a grand total of seven words, all of them directed towards Hijikata-san, two of which were 'fuck' and 'off'. He can't remember if he was alive that time, either.

China girl has spent more than five weeks in his apartment. He remembers, with aggravating clarity, everything. Except the number of words he has spoken. There are too many to keep track of. Within this period, he has kissed and fucked her too many times to attribute each individual event to the 'heat of the moment'. Too many times to use boredom as an excuse when the boss finally comes to kill him.

(But there are not enough times for them. There will never be enough.)

On the sixth week of her stay, they start sleeping in the same bed, both of them repeatedly expressing revulsion for the idea, both of them whining every single time how the other takes up too much space, snores too loudly, hogs more than their share of the blanket, is sweaty, is smelly, is too close, is too far—what are you doing all the way over there, dammit? it is hot. you are clingy, yes? don't call me clingy, you piece of shit, you were the one who came here in the first place—shut it, sadist. a good night's sleep is always a part of any woman's skincare routine, yes? fuck you. stay there if you want. i won't spoon you even if you beg me to. what do you mean you won't spoon me, you punk? do not fall asleep yet! answer me!

It only took one ugly pig and one mayonnaise addict to remind Okita Sougo that there is still more to see in the world beyond people's shoes.

* * *

The next time Hijikata-san visits, Sougo opens the bottom drawer of his closet.

The two of them sit, along with China, on his bedroom floor. Sougo dumps all the evidence that Mitsuba existed between them. Photos and albums, hair clips and brooches, tattered copies of novels, magazines, puzzles and comics clipped from newspapers, bottles of perfume empty half-used full, purses, and a medicine box labeled with each day of the week from when she had tuberculosis.

While China girl pores over old photo albums, Sougo watches Hijikata-san touch her things with his fingertips, pick up some small knick-knack with infinite care as if it were worth millions, and put it back down, the look on his face so tender Sougo has to lower his gaze. His throat feels too tight for speaking.

Suddenly he can't bear to be near all this, all that is left of a person who walked the earth, had a body and hands and a head, touched other people and talked, had a voice and a certain laugh for certain jokes, existed on the same plane as him, but is now no more than ash and memory. He can't grasp how these things can just happen. How something can be there and then not there. He doesn't understand what dying means.

"Sadist!"

Sougo starts. He looks at China girl, who is pointing at something that makes Hijikata-san smirk briefly, then at the photo in the album.

Shit, she has found the baby pictures. In this particular one he is buck-naked and flailing on a small tub, Mitsuba's hand trying to steady him as she takes the picture.

"Your dick was so  _tiny_ ," China says, giggling. "You are lucky it grew to be so—"

Sougo throws a magazine at her face. "Keep your nose off the pictures, fucking brat."

China ignores him. She turns the album to face her and continues looking at the photos. "You were naked a lot, yes?"

Sougo crawls over to her side to supervise her nosiness. "You're obsessed with me being naked, aren't you, China?"

Fortunately, Hijikata-san has become preoccupied with one of the more recent albums, and he doesn't seem to be paying attention to their exchange.

In this way the afternoon passes.

Sougo and China work their way from the past to the present, while Hijikata-san does the opposite. Something strange happens every time Sougo sees his sister in the photos. He still feels vaguely lost, as if his mind still has difficulty comprehending Mitsuba's absence, but whenever one of them points out a particularly memorable or lovely or funny or ugly shot, it feels like Sougo can still find his sister somewhere in the world in the most crowded street, and maybe he won't even get to talk to her, or even approach her, but he will at least know that she is there.

"Ahh, she was so pretty!" China exclaims over a photo of Mitsuba in her kimono on a New Year's Day shrine visit.

Hijikata-san glances over, smiles a little. "Right?"

"Right! So pretty," China repeats, waving the album in Sougo's face. "What happened to your ugly mug, sadist?"

Sougo looks down his nose at her. "I'll have you know, China, that physical attractiveness is the one category where I am equal to her."

"Equal?  _She_  looked like an angel.  _You_ look like an ass!"

He flicks her on the forehead, she headbutts him, Hijikata-san yells at them to stop fighting. But China sets the album aside and they engage in a juvenile brawl that, in spite of Hijikata-san trying to pry them apart, will always be a part of this home, and is something Sougo is pretty sure Mitsuba would not mind seeing from time to time.

* * *

By the time Hijikata-san manages to pacify them, dusk has started to fall. Together, quiet for the first time in hours, they pack Mitsuba's things back into the drawer, but Sougo doesn't bother locking it. He doesn't miss how slowly Hijikata-san lets go of every single object he touches.

China girl walks with them up to the apartment's front door. As the mayo addict steps into the hallway, his back to them, she nudges Sougo's foot with her own. He raps his knuckles on her head. "I know, dumbass," he says, and strides after Hijikata-san, the door closing gently behind him.

His superior doesn't say anything when Sougo catches up and walks with him. Down corridors flooded with yellow light and the muffled sounds of other people living, up the staircase to the ground floor, more hallways, other people passing by, the foyer, and finally, out of the building.

Sougo stops at the top step, while Hijikata-san goes down and only turns to him when he reaches the bottom step.

"You're doing better," Hijikata-san tells him.

Sougo frowns and looks down at his feet. "Are you going to visit her now?"

"You want to go?"

Sougo lifts his gaze. "No. I want to go alone. And. Not now."

"Alright." Hijikata-san fishes his cigarettes out of his pocket. "I guess I'll be going somewhere else now." Whatever he sees on Sougo's face makes him chuckle. "I don't think she'd approve of me going there so often, anyway."

Sougo watches him put the stick between his teeth. "Say, how many nicotine patches are you on right now, Hijibaka?"

Hijikata-san gazes at a nearby streetlamp with unnerving concentration, then slowly rolls his left sleeve back, revealing three patches. He does the same with the other sleeve. Both he and Sougo look at the bare skin there, then at each other.

"Huh," is all Sougo can think of to say.

"You're a pain in the ass to take care of," Hijikata-san tells him. "But I guess the freelancer girl is also a pain in the ass for you to deal with and you just cancel each other out." He nods a little. "You brats take care of each other, alright?"

Sougo scowls. "What for? I have better things to do, Hijibaka."

"Hmm? Like what?"

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and directs his scowl to the ground. "Like going to work. And other more important things."

Hijikata-san raises his eyebrows. "When can we expect you back?"

Sougo shifts his weight from one foot to another. "I don't know, alright? I'm just thinking about it."

"You take your time slacking off." Hijikata-san takes out his lighter. "No rush."

"I don't need your permission to slack off."

Hijikata-san gives him a casual salute. "We look forward to your return, Sergeant."

And he is lighting his cigarette, stepping down onto the sidewalk, and Sougo hears himself ask something that's been nagging at him ever since he showed them Mitsuba's possessions. "Why didn't you ask for any of her stuff like the creep that you usually are?"

Hijikata-san looks at him for ages. Then he reaches under his collar and tugs out the string of stainless links around his neck, along with the silver ring dangling from it. He holds it up, watches it turn in place, and smiles briefly. "Nah. I'm good."

And he is walking with the slowness, steadiness he is so well known for.

"Your place is in the opposite direction, Hijibaka!" Sougo yells.

"I'm drinking with a friend!" he yells back, giving him a little wave.

For a second, all Sougo can see is his hand in the air, then it's gone and soon Hijikata-san is just another person in the crowd, a completely ordinary human being indistinguishable from others, with ordinary hopes and fears and loves and losses, the only mark of his presence an ever-rising pillar of smoke trying to reach the sky.

#


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exams are approaching, so that means less time to write and proofread and even less time to really edit, so this may be less than stellar. Hope you enjoy it anyway lol.

There is a foreign movie playing on the television, the volume lowered to almost a murmur, the subtitles turned off because it wasn't entertaining enough to hold their attention.

Sougo turns his back on China, who lies restrained, panting and naked on the tabletop, and drops to the floor to catch his breath. He pulls the condom off, tosses it aside. He leans against the front of the table, slowly pulling his boxers and pants up. Behind him, he hears her rip through her bindings with zero effort.

He closes his eyes and listens to people talking in a language he doesn't understand, then to the sound of China girl dragging her ass toward him. He feels her bare legs fall on either side of him, feels her feet landing on his lap. She rests her chin on his head, her hair spilling all over, tickling his cheeks, his jaw, and he tugs on their ends. On the television, a man and a woman yell at each other.

"Sadist?"

Sougo opens his eyes. "What?"

Her pointy chin digs into his head. "Nothing, you dummy."

He yanks at her hair. She tries to kick his crotch, but he grabs her leg, and with fingers she must barely feel, traces five fine lines down to her ankle. She almost purrs.

 _Thievery_.

They both jump when several knocks sound through the door.

China slides out of his grasp, gets to her feet. She looks at him with wide eyes. "I am naked," she feels the need to inform him.

Sougo peers below the table and finds his shirt. "You're so fucking smart, China, I would never have figured that out on my own." Before she can retort, he pulls his clothes back on and hisses at her to do the same.

More knocks.

"Buttons," she growls, struggling into her cheongsam.

"Just finish in your room!" Sougo rushes into the kitchen to wash his hands, then walks to the door. "And clean up our mess while you're at it."

She mutters dark threats as she picks up all pieces of evidence that may so much as hint as to the nature of the events that took place in the living room.

Once China has locked herself in the bedroom, Sougo feels safe enough to open the door.

Then he closes it again.

"Oi, did you just close the door on your beloved Chief Inspector? Did you? Are you that ashamed to be in my company, Sougo?!"

Reluctantly, he pulls the door wide open, stepping aside. "Anyone would be ashamed, Kondo-san. Please come in quickly before anyone sees you. Gorillas aren't allowed inside the building."

"I may be a gorilla, but I have the soul of a man." Kondo-san strides past him, looking around the place.

"Don't lie. We saw your soul in that one chapter in canon. It's a gorilla." Sougo shuts the door and watches him warily. "Kondo-san, what—"

"Before anything else, Sougo," he interrupts, "there's just something I'd like to say."

Then the Chief Inspector of the Tokushu Butai – Hokkaido Unit turns around to face him, gets down on his knees and palms, and presses his forehead to the floor. "For being absent during the incident, for being a useless superior, for not noticing the traitor earlier, for your sister's death, for the fact that  _you_ had to do it, for placing that burden on you, for nagging Toushi about you, for not realizing sooner that sometimes the only person a grieving man can bear to talk to is a man who bears the same grief, for coming here despite you not wanting anyone else's company...I sincerely apologize. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this pathetic excuse of an officer."

When Sougo opens his mouth, only air and space leave him. The sight of his superior prostrating himself makes everything inside him squirm. Bit by bit the silence passes, divided by the movie soundtrack and lyrics nobody in the room understands. "Please get up, Kondo-san."

This was as effective as a pebble thrown against the wall. "Summons from the higher-ups shouldn't have mattered more than my men's well-being—"

"You couldn't have known we'd get the tip—"

"Unacceptable, Sougo! I put you and Toushi through that, our men  _died,_ while I was—I was—"

While he struggles to find a terrible enough word to describe whatever it is he had been doing, Sougo kneels, too, because being above Kondo-san doesn't sit well with him. But even as he does so, he still can't think of the right thing to say. Apology accepted? What for?

He shifts in place. "Kondo-san. This is weird, so please raise your head. Hijikata-san is the only one who needs to kneel before me." That didn't work. Sougo blows out a breath. "There's nothing to forgive. It was our mission. We did our jobs. But a lot of shit got in the way. I didn't—" He looks down. "I just didn't handle it well, that's all."

This makes Kondo-san sit up, at least, so he continues.

"I wanted—to find—another way." Sougo keeps staring at his lap, keeps thinking of that moment when he realized there was no other way, keeps thinking of Hijikata-san saying 'Mitsuba' like it meant something, of the impossible smile he saw through the scope. The words crawl out of him as the image in his head gets clearer and clearer. "If there was—one. Maybe—there was. I was just—not—good enough—to find it." He tries to keep his voice together, tries to sound normal, but everything comes out shaking. "I'm supposed to be the best."

"Sougo."

"I wasn't fit for duty." Saying the words out loud unleashes the shame of it, floods him from head to fingertip to toe with cold. "I don't know if I still am. I just didn't want Kondo-san to see what  _the best_ really looked like." He grips the fabric of his pants. "That's why. That's why I didn't want you coming here."

"I know." Kondo-san's voice, always solid, always certain. "I know. You wanted to grieve in private. Of course I'd leave you alone, hmm?"

A quiet wherein Sougo is sure that if he concentrates enough, he will hear all the noise outside, all that life. The people around him are so fucking strange.

"And the traitor made me regret not looking too closely at him," Kondo-san says. "He gave trust a bad name, eh? He must have hated the world very much to do such a thing. Well, he still lost."

This makes Sougo look up. There is a peculiar look on the Chief Inspector's face.

"I remember when you were this small…" He gestures to show just how small. "Already telling everyone you'll have my position in no time. And look where you are now." Kondo-san straightens. "Okita Mitsuba raised you to be a man better than the one you think you are. You may have a moral compass that doesn't work most of the time, but I trust you, Sougo." He smiles. It was an impossible smile. "I trust that you will return, that you will still be our best, that you will remain the pride of the Tokushu Butai because of your ability to protect people, and because regardless of what the world thinks of you and what you think of yourself, you are always determined to do what you think is right. And that makes me very proud of you, Sougo."

Behind Kondo-san, the television makes a sound like people dying.

Sougo looks down again. Feels his shoulders hunch ever so slightly under the weight of those words. How easily the gorilla says it. How sure he is. How desperately Sougo wants to believe him. But this is an M-rated fic, not shounen manga; some issues can't be solved with a single speech no matter who delivers it. He feels a strange knot in his throat anyway. "I want to be better."

"Of course you do!" Kondo-san slaps his knee. "That is the only way we can move isn't it? Onward. Ever onward, Sougo."

The knot grows into a lump and his fingers curl into fists. He bows so low the rest of the Tokushu Butai would be scandalized to see it. "Yes, sir. Thank you for everything up to now."

And because he is him, the gorilla bows, too, but doesn't say anything.

The universe holds them in place long enough to take a breath and nothing more.

They both sit up at the same time. Kondo-san nods. "Somehow I knew you would be a little better by the time I came here. I'm glad I wasn't wrong."

Sougo raises his gaze. "You're welcome to visit my place anytime, Kondo-san. Just don't bring Hijikata-san."

* * *

Sougo sees him out of the building with a promise to tell him when he is coming back to work. He watches his superior walk away, but when he sees a familiar figure sitting on the steps, he immediately retreats back inside.

Before he can close the door, the figure speaks up. "Oi, Saburou-kun. You aren't avoiding me, are you? 'Cause it would hurt my feelings if you are."

Sougo scratches his head. He's too young to die, but he supposes there's no putting it off any longer. Besides, it might be good for exercise.

He steps outside. "Boss, that name doesn't even start with 'So' anymore."

The boss stands, dusting off his butt. "Now, I've been hearing from an unreliable but drunk source—"

"You mean Hijikata-san?"

"—that perverted things have been done to our Kagura-chan." He turns to Sougo, his face wearing an expression that seems to be an attempt at smiling casually but only looks like a creepy grimace. "See here, I don't usually believe mayonnaise freaks, but this particular one was so shitfaced he was in no condition to lie."

"Shouldn't you be in Tokyo with your dad or something?"

The boss' face warps back to its normal dead expression. "It was just some shitty old man who taught a bunch of shitty brats to be a little less shitty. He was no one's father." But the way he glances up at the pale blue sky tells Sougo otherwise. "'Sides, he's been dead for weeks. I've been here in Sapporo for a while now."

What?

Sougo looks back at the door he left slightly ajar. Then at the boss. "But. China girl is—is—"

The sentence hangs itself between them, too heavy to be completed.

"Is a dumbass, that's what she is," the boss says, completing the sentence without batting an eye. "And so are you. She didn't want to leave yet, and what can a poor little human like Gin-san do to stop a teenage monster? Have you ever raised a teenage monster, Sada-kun? Do you have any idea what their rebellious phase looks like? Huh?"

Sougo's voice comes out sounding nonchalant. "So. I've been wasting my savings on that little shit for no reason."

Dead fish eyes with a look that's a little too close to understanding. "And since you're doing better now, well. I told her it was about time she left." He shrugs a little too casually. "She didn't like it, but she agreed that it would be for the best."

Sougo sits down. He can still feel her on his fingers, can hear her snoring beside him as he tries to sleep. "When?" When was she going to tell him?  _Nothing, you dummy._ Nothing, his ass.

The boss sticks his pinky up his nose. "Who knows. This week. As soon as possible. Before you do more lecherous things to her. I'll kill you for that, by the way. I just don't feel like it today."

Sougo stares ahead. "Okay. Nice seeing you, boss."

"Oi, don't dismiss me, Sakura-kun. You chasing me away? Does your dad own the street? Your mom?" The boss folds his arms and leans forward. "Hmm?"

The sun beats the city down with its heat. Sougo stands because the concrete is burning his ass.

The boss watches him. "Don't look so miserable, Sanji-kun, you can still drop by our place so I can carve your guts out. As long as you keep your filthy paws off her, of course."

"Like anyone would want to touch her," he says. "I'll gladly throw China girl out as soon as she has packed."

"That's the spirit, Saku-kun. I knew you had a tsundere in you." The boss steps down to the sidewalk. His eyes are old, the oldest Sougo has ever seen, and he remembers that he, too, knows loss. "You do look better," the permhead says. "You look alive now, at least."

"Thanks, I think."

The boss gives him an inaccurate salute. As he walks away, he calls out: "Onward, Souji-kun! Ever onward!"

The people around him. So fucking strange.

Sougo waits until he can't see his perm anymore, then goes back inside, muttering, "It's Sougo, dammit."

When he closes the door and looks up, he isn't surprised to see China girl standing there, approximately two feet from him. She is barefoot and wearing a wrinkled cheongsam, her hair hastily braided. He has seen her naked, desperate, angry, horny, sad, but for him this is the closest she has ever looked to vulnerable.

"Stalker," he says, wanting to sound pissed or even hurt, but only softness sneaks into his voice. He wants to take it back but he doesn't know how.

She meets his gaze head on. "I was going to tell you earlier, yes?"

"I know." He doesn't know what else to say. He walks toward her. If someone out there could watch his feet now they would think he does not care where he is going. He grabs her cheek as he passes, drags her along with him down the hallway, and she squeaks and whines and hits him. "I can't wait to kick you out, China."

She frees herself from his grasp, matches her pace to his. "Hmph. And I can't wait to leave, yes?"

Yes, he wants to say, but instead he stops. She stops. In the middle of an empty corridor, between doors to rooms where there may or may not be people making love, they look ahead of them. Wordless, weightless, he slings his arm around her shoulders and buries his nose in her hair.

Behind painted walls individual universes must go on.

The sound of the door opening, a voice like a drill in the ears yelling I'm home, idiot sadist! The clicks of the light switches in different rooms as she turns them on, turns them off. Her shoes at their doorstep.

"China," he murmurs to no one.

No one grabs the back of his shirt. "You can help me pack, yes?"

"If it'll get you out of my house sooner."

But they don't move away from each other for a long, long time.

#


	15. Chapter 15

According to China, it only took her one whole day to pack the things she brought to his apartment, momentary slacking off included.

This time, it takes more or less a week.

Sougo is of no help to the process. On the contrary, he does his best to hinder her as much as possible. Just to be annoying, of course. Certainly not because he wants her to stay just a little longer.

In his defense, she isn't really that productive, either. For instance: when it comes to the clothes, every time she folds one or two articles of clothing, she takes a snack break and/or watches TV. Then he joins her and he picks a fight and they make a mess of the room and they make a mess of each other and China girl has to rest for a while before continuing to pack.

The boss drops by every day to take away what meager possessions she managed to box during the day. He whines about their slowness, the weight of the boxes, the distance from Sougo's place to theirs, the physics of leaving.

Each day creates more space as it passes. But as Sougo walks from his room to hers, he gets a vague impression that the apartment is shrinking. In his head she is no longer there. He is bracing himself against the suddenness of it, so that when she  _is_ not here anymore it will feel like she has left a long time ago.

Sougo pauses at the doorway, looks at the mess all around her and at her, both of which will be gone in a few more days. This bedroom, once again stripped bare. He thinks of how unbearable it was at first to see it so empty, how seeing the traces of his sister left untouched felt even worse—the lengths to which he went to deny her absence.

Now he watches China girl fade from this room, bit by bit, and he has to disturb her again. He has to. He goes inside. Kneeling on the floor, in the middle of sorting and storing a bunch of bottles and tubes Sougo doesn't understand, she looks up at him. She stops what she's doing and watches him approach. He sits behind her and slowly undoes her braid. She sits still for one infinite second, then without a word, she turns back to the task at hand and keeps going.

In this way they have learned to speak a language other than violence. Of course, as Sougo rests his chin on her shoulder and she finishes packing whatever those things are, he upturns their containers and unloads them onto the floor, sending China girl's hard work rolling around in front of them. Her fist smashes into his face, sending him flying.

* * *

Their fights don't tend to last long within such a confined space. Besides, no matter how many times they punch each other, at the end of the day, the boss will still arrive, China will still hastily throw whatever is within reach into a box, and the boss will carry her things away, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Sougo the entire time.

When there is no perm in sight, they fuck in the middle of the mess, sweeping aside pens and hairpins and boxes, cursing each random object poking them as they roll around the floor, cursing and silencing each other with tongue, hand, cock, the curve between her neck and her shoulder lodged between his teeth like he's screaming.

In this way they can act like they are invincible to changes. She still cooks the same damn thing every meal so that Sougo has to wake up earlier to make sure they can taste some other breakfast besides egg-on-rice. The street-level windows still make him stop in the middle of his tracks, and sometimes he is tempted to stay in place forever because it empties him, makes him feel like he doesn't know anybody in the world, only their shoes and the way they walk.

If Sougo really thinks about it, he will be the only one staggered by her moving out. China's home has always been the boss' place. This is just a return to the status quo, and once again he will be surrounded by ghosts.

On China's last night in the apartment, as she snores in his bed (because she has packed away her sheets and also she is here, with him), Sougo wanders in the dark. Out the bedroom, around the living room, into the kitchen and back out again and then he retraces his steps and does it all over. He has lived in this place long enough to move through it without bumping into anything. He has spent long days suffocating here, right here, on this couch. And then Sundays: sunlit hours just sitting with his sister, eventually dozing off, and when he wakes up it is dusk and she is asleep, a quilt draped over the two of them.

He hovers over the dominating emptiness and shuffles back to the bedroom. He lowers himself onto the bed and the mattress' exhale coincides with China's sigh.

In the morning, as they kick each other under the dining table, he tells her over breakfast (rice and shrimp tempura—he woke up first) that as soon as he is able, he's going to move out.

Her feet stop. She considers him in silence, then devours a few more servings. Languid and rhythmic: the sounds of chewing and the clacking of chopsticks against bowls and plates.

(Shit, he's going to miss this.)

"Why?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I need bigger windows."

He doesn't explain, but she nods once and he can't believe it's this easy to tell her that without her, this place is a black hole and he wants out. They finish the rest of their meal without saying another word.

It is only when China stands, walks and stops by his chair that she finally says something: "Since you are a good-for-nothing idiot, you will need my help finding a new place, yes? I will have to sacrifice the precious time usually reserved for our clients, so you have to pay me, yes?"

Sougo chews, swallows. He pushes his empty plate away. "I'll just pay you with my body," he says, then pulls her down by the collar to kiss her.

Their violence, their hunger topples the chair he's sitting on, and right then and there, clawing and biting like animals, grabbing and clutching like thieves, loving and cursing and fumbling like accidents, they fuck on this kitchen floor for the last time.

* * *

There is no use delaying any longer. No matter how many times Sougo empties the boxes, it only takes a few minutes to fill them again. All that is left are the small things, easy to fit anywhere. When he gives up, she finishes packing with ease. They carry the last of her possessions into the living room and sets them near the front door.

Afterwards, they stand at the doorway of his sister's, China girl's, no one's bedroom. As he stares at it, he feels their gazes on him.

"I'm visiting tomorrow," he says to all of them.

None of them say anything.

"Then again before I go to work next week."

The bed with the stripped mattress in the far corner opposite the door. Clean white sheets folded on top of the pillows.

"You're welcome to fuck off for that second visit. The mayo addict better not be there, either."

Tape marks and faded paint on the wall beside it.

"I'll drop by around dusk."

"I will be there, yes?"

"I just told you to fuck off, China. What's wrong with you? You better bring her something."

To his left, an empty corkboard, scarred with more holes than before. Pins in a small case on top of the dresser below. The dresser, hollow, the top drawer slightly ajar as if closed too hastily.

China girl's index finger sneaks into the belt loop of his pants. Tugs on it. "Sadist."

"Again? The hell? What kind of cave is that between your legs?"

She ignores this. "Your new place should be very very far from Gin-chan and me, yes? I do not want to see your chihuahua face too often."

A full-length mirror, reflecting the bedroom and nothing else. Nothing else.

"I'll get one on the opposite side of the city. I'll kill you if you trespass on my territory."

To their right, a desk and a chair. The desk, nothing on top of it. The chair, sleek, its leather upholstery marked with stray marks of pens. Unoccupied.

"Like I would go anywhere near you after the shady things you did to me!"

"The hell are you talking about? We haven't even gotten anywhere near shady. We were rather vanilla." He rakes his nails across the back of her neck. "Give me enough time and I can show you real, actual lechery, China girl."

Her fingers curl. "Hmm. Maybe I will get lost. Maybe I will trespass on some tax robber's property, yes?"

If he squints, he feels like he can see Mitsuba somewhere here. But he doesn't; he turns away from the room, sees the trash can near them. Filled to the brim with crumpled paper and plastic wrappers.

"Maybe you will," he murmurs, and by the time he walks away to take a piss, he is still breathing.

* * *

The world is tinted with the last of the day's light when the boss drops by to haul China girl's possessions off. As he troops to the front door with the boxes, China tells him about Sougo's decision. A pause. Then the boss simply glances at him. Nods once as if in complete understanding. Dead fish eyes peer into his with unnerving intensity. "Need bigger windows, Shin-kun?"

Sougo and China stare at him. He shrugs in the lackadaisical manner he has been scorned, mocked and harried about for years, and walks out of the apartment with nary a single fuck given.

Loss knows loss, Sougo supposes. In the end, all he says to his retreating back is "It's Sougo."

China girl lingers. There is nothing of her left in his place except for her. For the hundredth time, she demands that he visit her whenever he can so she can wipe the floor with his puny, exercise-deprived ass for fun. But he's not in the mood to match her tsundere-ness with his own. He interrupts her blathering with more kisses until neither of them can stand properly anymore.

But eventually they have to stop because the boss is waiting for her upstairs. He walks her to the door but doesn't follow her outside. She turns back once to shout, "Dogface!", he raises his middle finger at her, then she grins and turns away from him.

Sougo closes the door. He waits for a bit, walks toward the couch where he buried himself along with his sister, and sits down with the slowness of a man who has much ahead of him. The leather creaks. He rests his elbows on his knees and looks up at the street-level windows.

Sure enough, he eventually sees black boots accompanied by a distinctly pale pair of ankles peeking from under the red hem of a cheongsam. They stop and face the glass directly, but the boots leave after the longest of moments. He never takes his gaze off the small black shoes left behind, not even when they pivot and start walking away. Sougo finds himself smiling faintly as he watches them until they are completely out of sight.

_fin_

* * *

_Our wars are never over._

_(Colum McCann)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for a quiet and open ending, and I hope that wasn't too dramatic, especially for these two. Anyway. Thank you for reading!


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